To Continue
by Stargazing BasketCase
Summary: “So remind me. Why are we going back to school after a year of roving the world and defeating evil?” And how exactly do you pick up the pieces of a shattered life and just keep going? After all, to continue is the hardest task of all. RWHG HPGW.
1. Prologue: Adaptation

Title: **To Continue**

Rating: T

Summary: "So remind me. _Why _are we going back to school after a year of roving the world and defeating evil?" And how exactly do you pick up the pieces of a shattered life and just keep going? After all, to continue is the hardest task of all. RWHG HPGW.

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I have neither the creative talent nor the amount of money that I would have if I _did _own Harry Potter, so I can quite comfortably say that I own nothing. Damnit.

My first serious foray into the world of Harry Potter, so I hope I don't suck too badly… And I _hate _that summary. Hate it, hate it, hate it. Oh yeah, and post-Deathly Hallows. I love that book.

Anyway. R&R is blessed, and enjoy!

To Continue

_Prologue - Adaptation_

Hermione Granger watched the world flicker past the train window, her right hand pressed lightly against the cool glass. There was a strange look dancing in her eyes; nostalgia, warring with anticipation. Anticipation and hope – yes, hope was there too.

"I didn't think I'd ever come this way again," she remarked idly, fingers tracing impressionistic patterns in the mist caused by her warm breath. "I thought…" She paused. "I thought that we'd never return to Hogwarts as students after—" Her voice cracked. "After last year," she finished in a whisper.

Warm fingers, interlaced with her own, squeezed gently. "I know what you mean," Ron Weasley agreed, his voice unusually soft. His thumb traced soothing circles on the back of her hand. She smiled—a bittersweet expression—and turned to lean her head against his shoulder, letting her eyelids slide shut. Ron smiled gently and pressed his nose to her wavy hair, just for a moment. Then he pulled back and said, with his usual subtlety, "So remind me. _Why _are we going back to school after a year of roving the world and defeating evil?"

Twin sighs of exasperation filled the carriage from the two girls in residence. Ginny Weasley, seated opposite her brother, rolled her eyes at him and Hermione straightened up and glared fiercely at him. Ron wilted under their joint disapproval. "What?" he defended weakly, glancing at Harry Potter for some back-up.

Harry just smirked at his friend and sat back, his arm loosely around Ginny's shoulders.

"Fat lot of good _you _are," Ron commented bitterly.

"We are returning to Hogwarts, Ronald Weasley," Hermione began, ignoring Ron's muttered _'Don't call me that' _at the use of his full name "because currently we have _no _qualifications whatsoever, and even though we've 'roved the world' and 'defeated evil', which was technically all Harry anyway, we're not going to get far without at least a couple of NEWTs."

"But we've got our OWLs," Ron protested. "Isn't that good enough?"

"No."

"Fine," Ron sulked.

Harry smirked even wider, and Ron glared at him. The object of his disapproval shifted slightly and then said, in an attempt to change the subject, "At least we won't have Voldemort to worry about this year."

Ron snorted, his mind dissuaded from its previous track. "_Finally_. Seven years…" He shook his head.

"It's a long time to live in fear," Ginny commented softly, her voice barely audible over the rattling of the train. The mood in the carriage abruptly changed, and they were quiet – a contemplative quiet, riddled with unspoken emotion. They _had _lived in fear for so long, and now it felt strange to be free of that fear. It was confusing.

The Hogwarts Express rattled on towards its destination, snowy forests flashing past the windows.

"Unless You-Know-Who had a kid," Ron mused thoughtfully.

Three pairs of eyes swivelled to stare at him in disbelief – Ron was happily oblivious to their incredulity.

"I mean," he blathered on, "it _would _be weird, although I hate to think about the person who'd want to have a kid with… _that._"

"Ron," Hermione said quietly, flickers of what bore a surprising resemblance to pain sliding across her face.

But Ron's face suddenly went white as a sheet – apparently, he hadn't heard her. "Umbridge!" he whispered in horror. "Oh God, Umbridge!"

Harry was desperately trying to suppress a laughing fit, more at Ron's face than anything else; Ginny was sat there with her mouth wide open, gaping at her brother, and Hermione looked about ready to strangle the babbling Weasley sat beside her. "Ron," she said tersely.

"…tainting my _mind_…" Ron groaned.

"Ron!" Hermione barked.

He started.

"Shut up," she retorted sweetly.

Ginny giggled. Harry bit his tongue.

Ron just looked offended. "What?" he asked. "What'd I do?"

She shot him a withering glance. "You're not _that _thick."

"What's wrong with wondering if—"

"Let's just stop this conversation now, shall we?" Harry interjected, his cheeks bright red with suppressed laughter.

"Yeah, please, let's," Ginny interrupted, her lips twitching up in a smirk.

"Just leave it at the statement 'no more Voldemort', okay?" Harry finished.

Ron shrugged moodily. "Fine," he grumbled.

Hermione mouthed a silent _'Thank you' _at Harry.

There was another silence, but a comfortable one this time – just four friends, enjoying the peace that had been denied to them for so long. Ginny snuggled closer to Harry, her eyes closed as she leant her head against his chest. He rested his cheek against the softness of her hair, silently revelling in the closeness that he had missed over the past year, and watched his two best friends. Ron and Hermione weren't quite as demonstrative as their companions – they sat side by side, the fingers of her left hand intertwined with those of his right, both gazing out the window over the snowy countryside.

Harry smiled slightly at the sight. Something _else _that had taken seven long years to come into fruition – _finally, _he thought to himself. The spark of attraction between them had been there as long as he'd known them, despite the fact that, up until last year, they'd both seemed to be completely oblivious. He smirked slightly. The jealousy each of them had exhibited at the other's romantic entanglements with Viktor Krum/Lavender Brown had been…entertaining, to say the least.

"It's going to be so different." Hermione's gaze never left the window as she spoke. "No Dumbledore; no Snape." She shook her head slightly, and tears sparkled slightly in her warm eyes. "We lost so many…"

Ron pulled her back against him and into his arms. He pressed his cheek to hers in silent comfort. No words were exchanged – what could be said to assuage this grief? For her, the comfort of his embrace was enough.

Harry looked away.

---------

He couldn't quite shake the image of those fifty-four bodies laid out in the Great Hall as he stood at the entrance to the grand space. The familiar four trestle tables were in place, already half-full with chattering students, from first to seventh years, but all that Harry could see was the dead that still haunted him. It had been a long summer, full of fixing and healing, but those who died to keep him away from Voldemort those last few minutes still followed him wherever he went.

Hermione and Ginny passed him on their way down to the Gryffindor table, talking and giggling (probably exchanging tales of Ron and Harry's misdemeanours), but Ron paused beside his friend. For that moment, it was just the two of them. "You see them too," his red-headed friend said softly.

Harry nodded wordlessly, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth.

"Lupin, Tonks, Colin." Ron's voice cracked. "Fred," he whispered. "All of them, just lying there. Broken."

"When will the pain fade?" Harry asked, so softly. The two of them were their own little bubble amidst the festivities; a bubble of pain and memory.

"I don't think it ever will," Ron replied. "But we have to learn to live with it."

Harry shook his head slowly. "If only I had just gone to him when he called for it," he choked out. "If only I'd _thought _about the consequences… They might still be alive."

"Don't say that." Ron's voice was suddenly harsh. "Don't _ever _say that." Harry turned to look at his friend, astonishment and confusion in his eyes. Ron met his best friend's gaze squarely, and Harry was shocked at the anger abruptly burning in the other's normally-placid face. "It cheapens their sacrifice," he bit off, every word an arrow. "It cheapens what they died for if you say that." Darkened eyes, blazing with fury and unutterable grief. "So _don't_."

And he left, their moment of shared sorrow broken.

Harry stared after him, his eyes wide as the rest of the incoming students swirled around him.

---------


	2. Everything Changes

Disclaimer etc.: see Prologue.

Thanks to my reviewers: **Martha**, **Me-Lissa1991 **and **Eclipse of the Sun**. I love you!

R&R is blessed to the Muse, and enjoy!

To Continue

_1 - Everything Changes_

"Potter! Weasley! Miss Granger!"

The named three stopped short at the sound of Professor McGonagall's voice, rising above the easy chatter of the last few students leaving the Great Hall. She hurried up to them, a rolled piece of parchment in one hand that she used to gesticulate at the trio she'd cornered.

"Now, I want to have a word with you three about dormitory arrangements," McGonagall began, looking slightly disconcerted by the fact that Ron was very nearly taller than her – he'd shot up in the year they'd missed. As usual. "Seeing as you are a full year older than any of your classmates, Potter and Weasley, you are now in a room for two in Gryffindor Tower—"

Ron frowned at Harry and mouthed, _'They have rooms for two?'_

"—but I'm afraid that you, Miss Granger, are going to have to share with at least one other. I'm sorry, but a single room is simply not feasible."

"That's okay, Professor," Hermione replied, smiling. "I'll be okay."

McGonagall smiled at the three of them, and handed the parchment in her hand to Harry. "A list of hopefuls for the Gryffindor Quidditch Team," she explained.

Harry stared at the parchment in his hand. "Why are you giving _me _this?" he asked softly, the faintest edge of hope in his voice.

McGonagall looked at him with the same expression she reserved for those making lame excuses as to the whereabouts of their homework. "Potter, despite your… lapse in attendance last year, you are still the most experienced, and quite possibly the best, Quidditch player Gryffindor has." Her eyes twinkled slightly. "And I expect you, as Captain, to ensure that Gryffindor do as well as they ever have."

"Professor, I…"

"It's simple logic, Potter," McGonagall said primly, and then smiled slightly at the three of them. "Hurry along to your common room, now. The password is '_pax'_."

"Appropriate," Hermione agreed.

Harry and Ron exchanged a questioning glance. '_Appropriate?' _Harry mouthed to Ron.

"Indeed, Miss Granger." With a final nod to the trio before her, she made her way up the steps and out of the Great Hall.

Ron immediately rounded on Harry. "You lucky bugger!" he exclaimed. "Captain of the Quidditch team! _Again!_"

"It was _going _to happen, Ron," Hermione said, with a roll of her eyes.

"You're supposed to be on _my_ side," Ron told her, frowning.

Ignoring both of them, Harry unrolled the parchment and scanned the names. "You're already down here, Ron," he commented, surprised.

Ron blinked. "I am?"

"Right next to Ginny."

Hermione smiled. "Looks like she knows her brother better than he knows himself."

"_She _put me down? How the hell do you know that?"

Hermione sniffed. "Woman's intuition."

Ron laughed. "Like hell."

The pair of them ascended the stairs, laughing together.

Harry didn't follow. He stood in the Great Hall a little longer, the image of the fifty-four once more invading his thoughts. His fingers tightened around the parchment in his hand, and his eyes stared into the Hall, unseeing.

_It cheapens what they died for if you say that. So _don't.

Maybe Ron was right.

Harry turned and left the Hall, hurrying to catch up with his two friends.

---------

They paused just outside the common room. The three of them exchanged glances, each slightly nervous as to what they would find inside. "This is it, then," Ron sighed. "We're really back at school?"

"We're really back at school," Hermione confirmed.

Ron sniffed. "I bet they would've given us a _great _position at the Ministry… I mean, they can't exactly say no to the three people who beat You-Know-Who."

"Well, technically—" Hermione began.

Ron pulled a face, and Harry laughed. "C'mon," he said. "Let's say hi to our new classmates."

Ron looked momentarily horrified. "We're having _classes _with the… the…" He gesticulated wildly, and Harry and Hermione watched him, amused. "With the… the little people?"

Hermione giggled.

"They're only a year younger than you, Ron," Harry reminded him.

"They're still little!" Ron grumbled.

Shaking his head, Harry turned to the Fat Lady, who'd been watching their conversation with interest and amusement. "_Pax_," he said.

"Thanks to you three," she replied with a smile, and swung open to let them in. The sound of chatter spilled out the portrait hole and swirled around the three of them for a moment, before all talk quickly faded to silence. Harry clambered in first and resisted the urge to shuffle his feet like a naughty child. Hermione came through after him, aided by Ron, who followed soon after, folding his lean frame through into Gryffindor common room.

The entrance swung shut behind them.

All the Gryffindors were in the common room, seated around the fires and catching up with friends after the loneliness of the summer holidays – the favourite topic, it seemed, was that of the downfall of the Dark Lord, and the return to school of Harry Potter. But the second Harry himself entered, closely followed by Ron and Hermione, all that stopped, and the common room was silent except for the crackle of burning wood. Astonished and awed faces gazed at the three of them, all except for Ginny, whose face bore a knowing smirk.

Harry cleared his throat awkwardly. "Hi," he said.

And then the three of them were swamped by a mass of clamouring students.

---------

"If that was an indicator of the year to come, count me out," Ron grumbled as he messily unpacked.

Harry nodded his weary agreement and continued to furiously scrub bright pink lip gloss off his face. "Although," he added distractedly, "if I'd realised being a hero would make me this popular with girls…" He trailed off and grinned at Ron.

His friend merely gave him a look. "I'll choose _not _to mention that comment to Ginny, shall I?" he inquired.

Harry nodded, and grinned. "Thanks."

Ron snorted and went back to throwing clothes into drawers at random. Harry watched him, and grinned. "Hermione'll have a fit when she sees that," he observed, indicating the mess on the floor of Ron's wardrobe with his wand, before tucking it back into the pocket of his robes.

"_If _she sees that," Ron corrected, slamming his suitcase shut and shoving it under his bed. "And, well, I'm not gonna be the one to tell her." He glared back at Harry. "Understand?"

Harry suppressed the urge to laugh. "I get it."

Ron waved vaguely at his nose, squinting at Harry's face. "You've got something…"

Harry cursed and rubbed at his own nose with his sleeve. It came away pink and glittery, and he sighed. "I think I miss our own year already."

"Hmm, I know," Ron agreed, flopping down on his four-poster bed and staring up at the drapes. "Anyway, I'm surprised that some of the others aren't back at Hogwarts. I mean, there must've been loads of people who didn't come last year besides us, with the whole Ministry-abducting-people thing they had going. Luna, for one. And Dean."

Harry sat down on his own bed and poked absently at the bedspread. "I guess it was a choice," he mused.

"Between staying at home and coming back to Hogwarts? Oh, how _difficult_."

Harry smiled. "Cheer up," he told Ron. "You'll enjoy it. Plus, would you have really let Hermione come back all by herself?" He smirked. "All those…other men?"

"True," Ron said reflectively, after a quick glare at Harry. "True." He sniffed and looked over at his friend. "What d'you think the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher'll be like?" He shifted and frowned. "I was kinda surprised not to see him at dinner tonight."

Harry shrugged. "Maybe he doesn't like the spotlight." He thought. "Or maybe he's just _really _ugly…"

Ron snorted. "Maybe." He sighed again and lay back down, his long arms splayed out across the covers of his bed. He was unusually quiet, and Harry looked over at him, wondering what his friend was up to.

He snorted out loud when he saw the goofy smile fixed on Ron's face. "Hermione?" he asked.

Ron jerked up and looked around. "Where?"

"You were thinking about Hermione," Harry clarified.

"I was not!"

"Yes you were!"

"I wasn't!"

"You were grinning!"

Ron abruptly looked shifty. "So?"

Harry just laughed. "You're pathetic," he told his friend. He kicked off his shoes and lay back on his bed, letting himself sink into the mattress.

"You're gonna need a new broom."

"Huh?" Harry glanced over at Ron.

"You're gonna need a new broomstick," Ron repeated, swinging his legs over the edge of his bed. "You're Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Harry. You need a broom."

"I…" Harry's mind was abruptly full of memories of the night when he'd lost so much more than just a broomstick. He looked down, unable to meet Ron's gaze anymore, as he felt tears begin to pool at the corners of his eyes.

Ron immediately realised what he'd said. He cursed. "Harry, I'm sorry," he apologised. "I didn't think."

Harry shook his head and wiped his sleeve across his eyes – the sleeve that _wasn't _covered in pink lip gloss. "S'okay," he replied brusquely. "Not your fault." He sighed. "But you're right."

Ron nodded slowly, watching Harry carefully. "Harry," he started, before stopping and chewing his lip. "I want you to know, mate, that if you need to talk about anything…" He left the sentence open, still watching Harry.

He was rewarded with a bittersweet smile. "Thanks," Harry said softly.

Ron jumped, the moment broken, as there came an insistent rapping at the door. He cursed softly as his heart raced, and then called, "Who is it?"

"It's me!"

He grinned at the familiar voice, and crossed the room to let Hermione in. "Hey," he greeted, standing aside.

She flashed him one of her little smiles, and then turned to the other occupant of the room. "Harry, Ginny's downstairs," she said – at the mention of Ginny's name, Harry visibly brightened. "She wants to… talk to you—" Hermione's lips twisted wryly at the word 'talk' "—but didn't want to come up here."

Harry jumped to his feet and nearly ran out the door.

Hermione laughed. "Harry Potter, lovesick." She shook her head. "Never would've thought."

Ron wrinkled his nose slightly and sighed. He sat down on the edge of his bed, pulling Hermione with him, his arm around her waist. Hermione looked at him, her forehead furrowed. He stared at the floor, a vaguely confused expression dancing around his eyes. "It bothers you, doesn't it?" she asked softly. "Harry and your sister."

He shifted guiltily. "It doesn't _bother _me," he quickly protested. "Not that way, at least." He shrugged slightly. "It's just…weird."

"Weird?"

Ron sighed. "I mean, it's been the three of us for so long that it feels strange to suddenly have Harry running off with someone else." He snorted. "Even if she _is _my sister." He shook his head slightly. "Last year changed so many things."

Hermione cautiously leaned her chin on his shoulder, watching him. "Not all for the worse, I hope?" she asked quietly.

A small smile made itself known on his lips. "No," he agreed. "It's not all bad. Just very different." He glanced up, sober once more. "Everything's changed."

"Change can be good."

"I hope so," he sighed.

She shifted, suddenly bold, and turned his face towards her. "I _know _so," she stressed. "And if you don't believe me, I shall be very annoyed indeed."

He grinned at that. "In that case, who am I to argue?"

Her eyes sparkled. "Very true."

Impulsively he drew her into his arms, hugging her tight against his chest and burying his face in her hair – strangely, it smelt faintly of apple-blossom. It always amazed him how neatly they seemed to fit together – her head tucked beneath his chin and his arms folded around her with such ease that, sometimes, it just seemed too good to be true. "Hermione," he whispered.

He felt her smile. "Ron." He felt her hand come up and tangle in his hair. "Ron, it's late." Instinctively his arms tightened around her, and he felt her breath whisper against his ear as she laughed soundlessly. "I only came up here to give Ginny's message to Harry. I have to _go._"

Gently, softly, he brushed his cheek against the softness of hers. "Stay," he whispered.

"Ron—"

"_Stay._" She pulled back, a question in her eyes. "Please."

Hermione reached up and stroked his cheek gently. She smiled softly. "Just for a little while."

---------

It was nearly eleven-thirty when Harry said a final goodnight to Ginny and slowly climbed the stairs back up to his and Ron's room. He paused just before he pushed the door open, and grinned to himself. He hadn't seen Hermione come down to the common room after he'd left, and he dreaded to think what he'd find inside.

Preparing himself for the worst, he silently pushed the door open and peered around the corner.

And he smiled warmly.

Ron and Hermione were curled up together on Ron's bed, fast asleep. They were lying on their sides, and her back was pressed up against his chest. His arms were around her waist, holding her tight against him, and there was a smile on her face. His face was buried in her hair and her hands were covering his over her stomach.

Harry leant his forehead against the cool stone of the doorframe for a moment, regarding his sleeping friends with a weary expression on his face, before stepping quietly into the room. He rolled his eyes. "Looks like you're here for the night," he said to the sleeping Hermione. He pulled one of his two blankets off his bed and draped it over the pair of them. Neither stirred.

He sighed. "At least you're still both wearing all your clothes," he told the sleeping pair, before beginning to change for bed.

---------


	3. Old Friends

Disclaimer etc.: see Prologue.

Ooo, this story is getting addictive. :D

Thanks to all my lovely reviewers: **phoniex soup**, **Elisabeth Maxwell**, **snowyowl7**, **twouble**, **ukambitious**, **lost-crazy**, **MCGEEandME**, **I Live A Loveless Life**, **nene cabajes**, **primadonna001**, **Caucasian Asian**, **LesaL**, **adri.**, **Angelia**, **RaeDawq00**, **sweetiepie1019**, **josephina**, **Sir Raphael**, **Me-Lissa1991**, **Eclipse of the Sun**, **Kates Master**, **spuffyfan22**, **the nameless creature **and **the-missing-arm-of-krum**. I love you all to bits!

And, before everyone cries "OOC", I know what I'm doing. Evil grin.

Anyway. R&R is love and updates, and enjoy!

To Continue

_2 - Old Friends_

The morning was a noisy affair. The four girls Hermione was supposed to be sharing a dormitory with (Ginny included) cornered her the second she furtively crept out of the boys' dormitory tower, dragging her off back to their room to pump her for information. Strangely enough, she seemed quite happy to be interrogated in that manner – maybe it was just the affable peacefulness she felt—she _always _felt—after waking up in Ron's arms.

Meanwhile, Ron himself was trying to write on Harry's face as his friend slept on, mouth slightly open and occasionally snoring. After three painstaking minutes of inscribing very neatly all over Harry's cheeks, and _another _two minutes of wincing every time Harry moved while waiting for the ink to dry, Ron finally shook his friend roughly, rousing him from his muted snoring.

"Harry," he hissed. "Harry, wake up."

Harry didn't stir.

Ron shook him again, and then tried a different tack. "Harry, You-Know-Who's coming to get you! You've gotta wake up!"

Harry merely shifted in his sleep and muttered something inaudible about weasels.

Ron gave him a funny look, before rolling his eyes and gently smacking Harry across the face. Harry started upwards, nearly headbutting Ron in the process. He groaned against the sunlight seeping into the room and screwed his eyes shut, pressing his hands to his face in mute protest. "Wha' t'me i' it?" he mumbled.

Ron smirked. "Nearly breakfast."

Harry rolled over onto his stomach and groped inelegantly for his glasses. "That's notta time," he grumbled.

Ron shook his head and sighed as Harry rammed his glasses onto his face. "Your own fault, mate," he reprimanded. "You were the one who stayed up late."

"Your sister made me," Harry shot back, before turning to his friend with a grin on his features. "Which reminds me – this room is supposed to be a room for _two_, not for three, Ron."

Ron flushed red from the neck of his robes to his hairline, and seemed to be unable to speak.

Harry smiled victoriously, pulling on his robes over his head. "See you down in the common room," he said to his still bright-red friend, and very nearly strutted out of the room.

Ron's expression immediately changed from an embarrassed flush to an evil grin at the sight of Harry waltzing out of their room with _'I love' _written on his left cheek and _'Argus Filch' _on the other. In fuchsia pink ink.

He snickered and followed Harry down the stairs, hurriedly tucking his wand into his inside pocket.

He was halted at the foot of the steps by the combined obstacle of Ginny and Harry, the former scrubbing furiously at the latter's face with her sleeve. Ron snorted into his hand, trying not to laugh at the sight of his best friend's bright red face…and the common room full of tittering third years behind them. Forcing a straight face, he clapped Harry on the shoulder in a comradely fashion. "So, your secret's out, hey?" he asked jovially.

"And it just happens to be in your handwriting, Ronald?" Ginny inquired, finally managing to get most of the pink ink off Harry's flushed features.

Ron shrugged. "What can I say?"

Ginny released Harry. " 'Sorry' would be a good start," she advised.

Harry, however, wasn't going to take sorry as enough just yet. Drawing his wand out of the inside pocket of his robes, he rounded on Ron, who flinched sharply and began to back off. "Now, Harry," Ron began, his hands raised in a placating gesture, "let's not do anything stupid."

If anything, Harry's expression got even more murderous.

Ron cursed, finally realising that it _really _wasn't clever to write embarrassing things on the face of the man who'd brought down the Dark Lord. Acting on this new and surprising revelation, he turned and legged it back up the stairs.

Harry grinned maniacally. "_Glisseo,_" he said gleefully, flicking his wand in the direction of the stairs, which obediently transformed into a rather steep slide. A loud curse was heard from above as Ron began his speedy decent. Ten seconds later he was in a crumpled heap of red hair and black robes at Harry's feet.

Sheepishly he looked up at his friend. "Sorry?" he offered weakly.

Harry grinned, pocketed his wand and helped Ron to his feet.

---------

"If there was one thing I missed last year," Ron said happily, "it was Hogwarts breakfasts."

They were seated at the Gryffindor table – Ron's plate was already heaped at least four inches high. He tucked into a brace of fat sausages and grinned at Harry and Hermione. Hermione grimaced before she could help herself at the sight of mangled meat in her boyfriend's mouth, but thankfully Ron didn't notice. Harry wasn't sure he was quite ready for one of their arguments this early in the morning, especially not after his late night and morning shenanigans. He scrubbed half-heartedly at a remaining bit of pink ink on his face, before pushing his spoon around the bowl of porridge in front of him. He wasn't hungry.

For lack of anything better to do, he scanned the hall lazily, still finding it strange not to spot Parvati and Lavender giggling a few metres down the Gryffindor table, or not to meet Malfoy's narrowed gaze over the heads of unaware students, or not to see Luna wandering late into breakfast, a dreamy expression on her pale face and one shoe missing.

_Hang on… _

He started. "Luna!" he called over the chatter in the room.

Ron glanced up from the other side of the table. " 'Arry?" he asked around a mouthful of bacon.

Harry grinned. "It's Luna!" he answered.

Ron swallowed and spun around on the bench, as did Hermione, sat next to him. "But…she wasn't on the train yesterday!" Ron exclaimed.

"And I thought her father wanted to keep her close after…" Hermione paused. "Well, after what happened last year."

Luna wandered over to them at the Gryffindor table, absently turning what looked like a purple cucumber around in her fingers. "Harry!" she greeted languorously. "Hermione! Ron! Ginny!"

Harry pushed his bowl away from him. "Where were you yesterday?" he asked, leaning forward across the table.

"Oh, I missed the train," Luna replied, seemingly perfectly happy about this. "Professor McGonagall sent someone to collect me, but it took most of the night to get here. I haven't slept yet."

That explained the dark circles under both eyes, standing out against her chalk-white skin.

"And I had a bit of a disagreement with my father over whether to come back to Hogwarts or not," she continued. "He wanted me to stay with him – he thinks the Ministry is going to abduct me again—" Hermione and Ron exchanged a glance "—but I wanted to come back to school. I like school."

Harry smiled, slightly stuck as to what to say next. "That's great!" he settled for. "If you—"

He was cut off by the noisy arrival of the morning's mail delivery. Amidst the hooting and screeching Luna bade the four of them farewell, saying that she'd see them in class, and wandered off to find a space on the Ravenclaw table. Harry watched her go, a slight smile curving his lips.

A bedraggled-looking barn owl landed in front of Hermione, depositing a copy of the _Daily Prophet_. The bird waggled its leg insistently at her, and she paid it impatiently before flipping the paper open.

Ron paused from his single-minded quest to eat every item of food on the Gryffindor table and snorted at her. "I'm surprised you still read that rag," he commented derisively, "considering the crap that it printed last year."

Hermione didn't even look at him. "And what would you suggest I read instead?" she asked primly. "_The Quibbler_?"

Ron flushed as an owl landed on his shoulder, dropping a copy of the aforementioned circular into his lap, bound with what looked suspiciously like tree roots. Hermione just rolled her eyes as Ron paid the owl and shooed the bird away – however, it refused to go without a hefty chunk of his hair clutched in its beak. Ron grimaced at it as it flew off. He pressed a hand to his head and made an obscene gesture in the bird's general direction.

Then he froze, mouth half open, eyes still fixed on the incoming stream of owls. "Harry," he said slowly. "Remember I said you'd need a new broom…"

Harry frowned at Ron. "Yeah?"

Ron pointed up. "Looks like I might be wrong."

The other three looked up as one. Silhouetted against the cloudy blue of the ceiling, borne by six ragged owls and wrapped in brown paper, was a very familiar shape. The six birds, flapping wearily, soared along the length of the Gryffindor table. Wondering murmurs and skyward-pointing fingers followed the path of the strange flying object from all the tables, including the teachers'.

Ron lowered his hand and looked over at Harry. "Déjà vu." He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. "Twice over."

Harry laughed, but it was strained. He wasn't quite sure he was ready for the implications of a new broom – it sounded stupid, but in his mind a new broom meant that he'd accepted the loss of his old one – and by connection, the loss of his old life.

A frown creased his forehead as the owls deposited the wrapped parcel before him, and he just looked at it.

"Harry?" He felt Ginny's hand in his. "Are you okay?"

He flashed her a small grin. "Yeah." He gave her fingers a squeeze, and then turned his attention to the parcel before him. And frowned again. "Did anyone see a letter with it?"

Ron shook his head. By now he was kneeling up on the bench opposite, leaning over his still quarter-full plate. "C'mon, open it!" he enthused. "I wanna see which one you've got _this _time." He rolled his eyes, and a smile twitched Harry's lips. "I heard there's a new Lightning Rod out – supposed to be brilliant." He bit his lip and glanced up. "Not as good as the Firebolt but…" He chewed his lip awkwardly.

Harry flashed him a small smile - a smile that said quite clearly _'It's okay'_. "Let's take a look then." Ignoring the small crowd that had gathered around them at the table he hurriedly yanked off the string and brown paper, depositing them on the stone flags in a crumpled heap. For a moment, he just gaped at the broom sat on the trestle table as confused murmurs arose from the gathered Gryffindors.

"Harry," Ginny said slowly. "Is that…?"

"Blimey!" Ron exclaimed breathlessly.

Harry picked it up, feeling the familiar weight in his hands. He ran one fingertip over the wood – his stubby nail caught in a ragged scratch, caused when he'd accidentally flown into the goalposts during training two years ago. "It is," he said slowly, astounded. "It's _my_ Firebolt."

"But how can it be?" Hermione asked. "You said you lost it."

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "You said you dropped it when we were getting you out away from the Dursleys last year, when you and Hagrid were attacked." There was a soft ripple in the conversations around them – the word 'attacked' had intrigued the gathered students.

Harry's lips twitched upwards in an amazed smile, still turning the broomstick over and over in his hands. "I thought I did!" He shook his head. "I _know _I did!"

Hermione plucked the packaging off the floor and began to rustle through it. She frowned, worry flickering across her features. "It doesn't say who sent it."

Harry laughed, ridiculously happy. His fingers flexed around the wooden handle, almost as if his flesh refused to believe that it was here. "I don't care!"

Hermione sighed in exasperation. "Harry, doesn't it bother you that this could have been sent back to you by a Death Eater? They're not all gone, you _know _that! The Ministry warned us about something like this! It could be someone in allegiance with Voldemort! For God's sake, it could have been cursed to try and _kill_ you the instant to fly on it!" The crowd around them was rapidly growing, swelling as the trio's voices rose.

"It wasn't. It won't." Harry just grinned, unable to take his eyes off the broomstick in his hands.

"Harry, she's got a point," Ron said. The sombreness in his voice—a voice that usually joked and made insensitive comments—finally caught Harry's attention and he looked up from the broom in his hand. The crowd of students around them, who'd been avidly following the conversation up to this point, eager for some tiny snippet about the trio's activities last year, withdrew slightly. This was something that was very nearly private – a sensitive matter. Ron's voice lowered. "We've lost enough already. Harry, it's not worth the risk."

"Ron…" Harry struggled for words. "Ron, I just _know _that there is nothing wrong with this broom – no hexes, no jinxes, no curses." He caught Ron's blue gaze. "I can't explain it. I just know"

Ron's mouth twisted. "Harry, your feelings have been wrong in the past."

"Oh really." Harry leaned back, his gaze hardening. "Name me one."

"Harry…" Ron sighed explosively and ran a hand through his flaming hair. "That's _not_ the point, and you know it."

"Then what _is _the point?"

"The _point_?" Ron was dangerously close to breaking point, and Harry knew it. He was vaguely aware of Ginny and Hermione exchanging a worried glance, and of Hermione lightly grasping Ron's wrist, almost as if she was trying to hold him back, but he couldn't quite bring himself to care. He wanted to make Ron angry. He wanted someone else to feel the pain that was welling up inside him. As twisted as it was, he wanted Ron to hurt like he did. "What's the _point_?" Ron shook his head, disgusted. "Harry, the goddamn point is that I have already lost my brother! I am _not _going to lose my best friend!" He almost yelled his rebuttal, anger flooding his fever-bright gaze.

"Lost your brother?" Harry repeated, his voice almost mocking. He couldn't help it – Ron's loss of control was like a balm on his battered heart, and he wanted—_needed_—more. Plus, he was furious at his best friend. He'd just received the first piece of happiness he'd had in weeks, and all Ron did was try to put a damper on his joy. So he pushed. He pushed harder than he should. "So what? You've got four more!"

Fury burning in his eyes, Ron ripped his wand from the inside of his robes, whipping it in his best friend's direction, sending Harry smashing backwards into the Hufflepuff breakfast table. His Firebolt, the source of the anger and grief that lay thick in the hall, lay forgotten at the shocked Ginny's feet.

Dead silence descended over the hall.

Shaking with rage and shattering grief, his wand still pointed at Harry, Ron looked down at him over the table. "You son of a bitch," he bit off into the silence. "You filthy son of a bitch."

With that he left, fearful students falling away before him. All eyes followed him out, but everyone was frozen. The pain and grief that thrummed through him rippled off him waves, and it affected everyone, even those at the other end of the hall. The second he vanished from sight, however, the spell was broken, and the hall filled with startled shouts and shocked conversations.

Professor McGonagall pushed her way through the throngs of children, shooing them back to their house tables. She stopped beside Harry and looked down at him disapprovingly. "I expect better from you, Potter," she said sternly. "I never expected cruelty to be your strong suit." She gingerly picked his broomstick up from the ground, holding it at arms length. "And your friends were right, too," she said distractedly, frowning at it. "There is something…_strange _about this broomstick." She glanced down at Harry, and Ginny crouched beside him. Harry stared back defiantly. "You'll get this back when I've deemed it safe," she said primly, before turning to Hermione.

Hermione was stood stock-still, unable to believe what had just happened. She stared in shock at Ron's copy of _The Quibbler_, left discarded where he'd been sitting minutes before. She reached down at picked it up, staring at the jumbled text on the front page. She couldn't strike the image of Ron striding from the hall from her mind; couldn't forget the raw agony on his face. _Ron… _She bit her lower lip, feeling tears pooling in the corners of her eyes.

She was abruptly jerked back to reality by a touch on her arm. "Miss Granger?" It was Professor McGonagall. The teacher sighed and handed her two sheets of inked parchment. "Mr. Weasley's timetable, and your own. I suggest you go and deal with him." Hermione took the sheets, nodding. She flashed the teacher an empty smile, and made to go. "Oh, and Miss Granger?" She froze, and found herself caught by McGonagall's searching stare. "This _will not _have an affect on either your studies or your day-to-day life, you hear me? Hogwarts has suffered enough, and the students will look up to you three." Her gaze was hard and piercing. "The school cannot afford to have incidents like this become a regular occurrence."

With a final sharp look to Hermione, McGonagall swept out of the hall, Firebolt held in one hand.

Tucking the two timetables into her pocket, Hermione followed in the Transfiguration teacher's footsteps. She bit her lip lightly, looking from side to side. _Ron, where are you? _

_---------_


	4. Comfort and Friendship

Disclaimer etc.: see Prologue.

Y'know, I think it's bad. I can't seem to stop writing this fic...

Thanks to my lovely reviewers: **Sir Raphael**, **twouble**, **Animaria**, **the-missing-arm-of-krum**, **MCGEEandME**, **RaeDawq00**,** STILLMISSINGPADFOOT**, **sweetiepie1019**, **Augustus Snodgrass**, **Lucy**, **Evelyn Granger**, **nene cabajes**, **Dwindlingcandle**, **Talaayn**, **bograt**, **Mariarenee14**, **callernumber16onz100**, **josephina**, **Lady Adriane of Katherine**, **melodrome**, **Elisabeth Maxwell **and **reddishdweeb**. I love you all!

R&R is blessed to the Muse, and enjoy!

To Continue

_3 - Comfort and Friendship_

Ginny's hand in his helped him to his feet again. His back ached from where he'd been slammed into the bench, and something clicked as he stood up. He groaned. Gingerly, he reached round to touch his injured flesh, and he bit back a yelp of pain.

_That's going to be a nice colour in the morning, _he thought absently.

He glanced over at Ginny, who was watching him wide-eyed. "Thanks," he threw out distractedly.

The next thing he knew her fist connected with the side of his jaw, sending him crashing to the stone flags once more, a spatter of his blood abruptly decorating the floor. He did yelp this time, and stared up at Ginny in astonishment and anger, his glasses askew. He touched his split lip gingerly – his fingertips came away wet and crimson. "What was that for?" he asked indignantly.

Ginny's eyes shone with tears as she shook her fist. "He was my brother, too," she husked out, before turning on her heel and storming off.

Harry watched her go, a growing sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. _What have I done? _he thought, horrified, the memory of Ron's anger and sorrow making him dizzy. _What was I _thinking

Still sat on the cold floor, the hall emptying around him, he clenched his fists so hard his knuckles went bone-white and he felt blood in the palms of his hands. He let out a shaky breath and abruptly punched the bench beside him. Pain shot through his fingers, but he ignored it. _What the_ hell _was I thinking?!_

"I'm guessing you're Harry Potter."

Harry started. He looked up, pushing his glasses straight on his nose. Another boy was stood over him – he wore the colours of a Gryffindor, and a neatly-combed mop of rich blond hair hung halfway across his face. Warm blue eyes watched Harry. The stranger offered his hand to Harry – warily, Harry accepted the help and rose to his feet. "Yeah," he replied. "I am. Who are you?"

The stranger chuckled. "Phil. Phil Parsons." Still gripping Harry's hand in his, he shook it, before withdrawing. He winced as he spotted the blood that had transferred from Harry's hand to his own, and withdrew his wand from his robes. He quickly cleaned off the blood with a flick of his wand, and then reached out again to Harry's hands.

Harry jerked his hands away. "What are you doing?" he asked warily.

Phil chuckled again. "You punched the bench, and then bled all over me," he stated, matter-of-factly. "I think your hands might be a tad hurt."

As a twinge of pain raced through said appendages, Harry acquiesced that his new acquaintance might have a point. He held out his hands for inspection.

With another elegant sweep of his wand, Phil vanished the drying blood from Harry's fingers, and then gently poked at the newly-cleaned digits with the tip of his wand. Harry hissed with pain. Phil winced in sympathy, and dropped his wand to his side. "Think you might've broken something there, mate."

Harry's stomach clenched at Phil's careless use of the word "mate". Ron's smirking face flashed before his eyes. _Your fault, mate. You were the one who stayed up late. _"Better get to Madam Pomfrey, then," he mumbled, suddenly subdued once more.

Phil snorted, either not picking up on or ignoring Harry's abrupt mood-change. "Rubbish. I'll fix it." Harry gave him a look, but it was ignored. Phil levelled up Harry's hands, and then made a peculiar sort of cross in the air above them. As his wand-tip completed the arms of the cross, he muttered, "_Coalesco._"

Harry's hands tingled slightly, and then he physically felt the broken bone snap back into place, but it didn't hurt a bit. He stared at his hands in wonderment. "That was amazing," he complimented, thoughts of Ron and Ginny flitting from his mind.

Phil shrugged, but he was grinning. "That's pretty high praise, coming from the bloke who defeated You-Know-Who."

It was Harry's turn to shrug. "Quests. You get used to them."

Phil's face fell, just slightly. "I guess you would." He studied Harry's features intently for a moment. "Just so you know, I don't think that what you said was unjustified."

Harry blinked, confused. "What?"

"To Weasley, I mean." Phil patted Harry's shoulder. "You've been through a lot, and you're obviously hurting. I don't think they understand that. If you're pushed, you're gonna explode."

Harry just looked at his new acquaintance for a second, before giving a small, tired small. "Thanks," he said. It didn't quite occur to him to question what Phil was saying – it was exactly what had been going through his head moments before he'd been thrown back into a hard wooden bench. He was just happy to have someone who understood, and sympathised. He got the funny feeling that most people were going to back Ron in this particular spat.

"Oh, hang on." Phil abruptly started rummaging in his pockets, interrupting Harry's train of thought. "There we go." He drew a crumpled bit of parchment from his pocket, and winced slightly as he handed it to Harry. "Sorry 'bout that," he apologised. "My pockets – bit of a mess."

Harry unscrunched the sheet, to be greeted by the familiar sight of a timetable.

"Flitwick gave it to me to give to you," Phil explained.

Harry gave him a funny look. "Flitwick?"

"McGonagall flounced off, if you didn't notice. And then Flitwick had to go get stuff ready for his first lesson, so he gave it to me to give to you." Phil shrugged.

Harry smiled slightly. "Fair enough." He studied the parchment, and abruptly swore. "Damnit! I'm late for Charms _already_." He sighed and ran a hand through his scruffy hair. _Brilliant start to the year, _he thought to himself.

Phil sighed and rubbed at his temples. "That means I am too. Damnit." At Harry's inquisitive look, he shrugged guiltily. "I snuck a look at your timetable." He looked sheepish. "I'm in the same classes as you."

Harry grinned and gestured towards the doors. "Shall we?"

"We shall."

And the pair of them left, black hair contrasted against blond, light laughter dusting the silence in the hall. Harry was smiling, and it was like he had forgotten all about the events that occurred over breakfast; like he'd lost all knowledge of being cursed by his best friend and punched by his girlfriend, all after meeting this strange, blue-eyed boy.

---------

It was the crying that led her to him, in the end.

She'd left the confines of the castle walls, stepping out into the brisk autumn air and letting the breeze tug at the hem of her robes. Dressed for the warmth inside, she'd shivered, feeling goosebumps tickle her arms. But she'd ignored the brief chill, and she'd trod a familiar path into the grounds.

Walking across the grass, with the trees of the Forbidden Forest in sight, she'd heard it – wracking sobs, echoing in the clear air. Those sobs could have belonged to anyone—to any grief-stricken being—but she knew it was him. And something deep inside her sang out, insistent to be heard.

_Go to him. Hold him. Heal him. _

And so she did – stepping firmly through the still-dewy grass, following the heart-breaking cries, feeling her own heart shudder just a little with every pace.

Hermione found Ron at the very edge of the Forbidden Forest, his back to the bole of a tree, knees pulled up to his chest. His face was hidden behind his knees, but it was obvious that he was weeping – sobbing with grief and rage. Suddenly nervous, she knelt beside him, pressing her robes into the damp of the grass. "Ron?" she asked softly, reaching out to touch his shaking shoulder. "Ron, it's me."

He said nothing; merely raised his face from his knees to fix his intense blue gaze on her. She was momentarily stunned at the sight of him – he never let her see him cry before, but now he was staring at her with tears streaming down his cheeks, his eyes red-rimmed.

"Oh, Ron," she breathed. She moved her hand from his shoulder to his cheek, gently stroking his skin with her thumb. "Ron, Harry didn't mean it, you know that."

He let out a shuddering breath. "Yes he did," he spat, voice thick. "He meant every goddamn word."

"Ron—"

"And he was right." Ron spoke right over her, his voice bitter. "So what if I lost my brother?" He sniffed hard and wiped his sleeve over his face, dislodging Hermione's hand. "_Everyone _lost _someone_: I'm no-one special. What the _hell_ am I complaining about?"

His words were loaded with such bitterness, grief and self-loathing that Hermione felt tears gathering in the corners of her own eyes. "Ron, don't say that," she whispered ineffectually. "Please."

Another shuddering breath escaped his over-taxed lungs, and he shivered. "Why can't it just all be like it used to be?" he whispered brokenly, all the fight leaving him. "You, me and Harry against the world." He looked up to the pale blue sky, tears leaving tracks down his cheeks. "It was so easy. So simple." He sniffed, and his fingers found Hermione's. "Find the bad guy, beat the bad guy, get the essay in on time. But now…" He looked back down at her, anguish in his gaze. "Where's the bad guy? There's no bad guy to beat now, and it's like we're falling apart." He laughed, just a short burst of not-quite merriment. "I almost wish You-Know-Who was still back. Then nothing would have changed. It would still be you and me and Harry. Just the three of us. The three of us against the world."

Hermione couldn't speak. All summer Ron had been the strong one – he'd crushed her to him so tight when she'd woken sobbing in the dead of night, and had whispered words of comfort in her ear as she clutched at him; he'd been the one to follow George out to the garden of the Burrow when it had finally been too much for the one remaining twin to bear, and he'd been the one to hold his big brother while he cried into his shoulder. It had been the pattern that they'd all fallen into: Ron had become the one to turn to when it became too much.

But no one had quite thought about how Ron himself was coping – not even her. And now it was all coming out in one explosion of pain and tears.

"I'm so sorry," she breathed, and pulled him into her arms.

---------

"Sorry we're late, Professor."

Harry didn't turn around, even though the rest of the class swivelled in their seats curiously. The monumental fight at breakfast this morning had already made it around half the school, and whispers had followed him and Phil as they entered: the _first_ set of latecomers. Ginny, now seated two rows behind him, had refused to meet his eyes. There had been tear-tracks on her cheeks.

Harry's stomach twisted at the memory.

Flitwick peered at Ron and Hermione, opened his mouth, and then changed his mind about asking. "Take a seat," he instructed, "and see me after the lesson. Both of you." Without another word, he turned back to the class and resumed his lesson.

There was only one set of twin desks left – right next to the ones occupied by Harry and Phil, his new companion. Harry stared straight ahead as he heard the sounds of chairs scraping back and two students sitting down.

His hands fisted in his robes under the desk.

A hand touched his arm lightly in commiseration. Harry glanced over at Phil – the other's face held a small, sympathetic smile. _'You okay?' _he mouthed slowly.

Harry hastened to nod, forcing a small smile. Phil regarded him sceptically for a second, before turning back to face the front, his gaze once more fixed on Flitwick, perched on a pile of books, as the teacher explained the virtue of an upward wand-flick rather than a downwards one.

---------

Ron stepped out of the classroom with his emotions barely in check. After a whole lesson of frosty silence between the front two desks, even Flitwick had been glad to get rid of them, and his talk with Ron and Hermione had merely been an admonishment not to do it again, no matter the circumstances. Hermione followed straight after Ron, and she shut the door behind her.

Ginny was waiting for them outside, her hands clenched together in front of her. Her watery gaze was fixed on her big brother, and Hermione glanced between them, and then touched Ron's sleeve. "I'll see you later," she murmured. "I have to get to Arithmancy."

Ron nodded, distracted. To be frank, she could have been professing her undying love for the giant squid for all he heard, and he barely registered her walking away. All he could focus on was his baby sister, her eyes swimming with tears. Wordlessly he opened his arms to her, and then she was hugging him hard, her face pressing into his chest and her tears soaking the front of his robes. She was shaking violently, and Ron just held her tight, not speaking.

"Why did he say that?" Ginny choked out, her voice muffled.

Ron pressed his cheek against her hair and closed his eyes, fighting the tears. "I don't know," he answered, his voice soft. "I don't know why he said those things, but I know that he didn't mean them."

Ginny pulled back, staring up at him. "But how can you say—"

"Ginny, I _know _that that wasn't him speaking," Ron spoke across her firmly. "I know Harry Potter. There's something else going on, and I intend to go and speak to McGonagall as soon as I can to find out what." The corner of his lips twitched upwards slightly. "It took Hermione all-but slapping me around the face for me to figure it out, but it's true nonetheless." At Ginny's questioning look, he shrugged sheepishly. "What did you think we were doing while being late for Charms?" He dropped her gaze, studying his untied shoelaces intently. "I broke down, and then she beat some sense into me."

"Well, that wasn't what we thought you'd been getting up to," Ginny commented.

Ron's head shot up, and he glared at her. "Ha ha. Very funny." His face became serious once more, and he tugged her back into a hug. "It'll be okay. I promise."

She nodded against him, her hands twisted into the front of his robes. "I'm sorry," she suddenly said.

Ron blinked, pulling back. "For what?"

"For not coming with you, when you walked out this morning." Ginny sniffed once more, rubbing her eyes. "It's just…" Her bottom lip trembled slightly, but she kept speaking. "I was so shocked by what he said—and I couldn't believe he'd _said _it—that I couldn't _move_. And then…then I just wanted it to be dream, so I just stood there and waited to wake up, but I didn't, and then I helped him up and…" She abruptly flushed.

"Ginny?" She'd stopped speaking, and he frowned at her.

"I punched him," she whispered, cheeks bright red.

Ron chuckled. "Well, I cursed him, so I think I'm one up from you."

She gave him a look. "It's not a competition, Ronald."

He smirked. "All the same, I'm winning." He jerked his head down the corridor. "C'mon. We've both got a free now. Let's go find McGonagall."

Ginny nodded her mute agreement, and the two red-headed siblings set off down the corridor in tense, companionable silence.

---------

Professor McGonagall stood at the front of the darkened classroom, studying the broomstick lying on the desk before her. Despite the fact that it was still mid-morning, all the blinds were down and the room was lit by candles, arranged in groups of threes on every spare surface. "What do you think?" she asked, her forehead creased with worry.

"There is definitely something… strange about this object." The voice was slightly accented – something not quite English, but not precisely foreign either. "I cannot tell exactly what…" The woman shook her head, biting a pale lower lip.

"Well, I hope you can find out soon," McGonagall snapped. "I believe whatever has been done to this broomstick very nearly caused a brawl at breakfast this morning!"

"Ah, yes, between Mister Potter and Mister Weasley. My fourth-year class this morning was abuzz with talk of _that _particular encounter." She ran one red fingernail along the vanished wood of the broom handle. "This was Potter's, yes?"

"Yes," McGonagall confirmed. "Ever since he was in third year. A gift from his godfather, I think."

The woman nodded slowly. "Something with a connection to the good Mister Potter…" Laying one crimson-nailed fingertip on the surface of the broom, she murmured, "_Infrasuperficiem._"

McGonagall frowned. "What are you—"

The other woman gasped sharply, her back arching as she stared ahead, a white glaze frosting over her pale blue irises. She shook, every millimetre of her slender body trembling, but her forefinger, capped with its red nail, remained fixed on Harry's Firebolt, lying innocently on the desktop before her. The flame of every candle in the room flickered violently, as if caught in a sudden breeze, and then went out.

The pale woman collapsed in a crumpled heap behind her desk.

A startled expression on her face, McGonagall flicked her wand, bringing light back into the room in the form of five gently pulsing balls of light, hovering in a ring above the desk and the Firebolt. The elderly professor knelt beside her colleague, taking her pale face between her hands.

Ice cold blue eyes flickered open, fixing immediately on McGonagall's concerned features. "It did not like me doing that."

McGonagall sighed sharply and rose once more to her feet, aiding her colleague as she did. "What was that?" she asked.

The other woman shook her head slowly. "I was as though… As if there was something _in _the broomstick."

"Is that possible?" McGonagall asked. "The possession of an inanimate object?" She sounded disbelieving, and mildly incredulous.

The other woman moved her hand in a gentle arc, and the candles obediently began to light themselves, one at a time. "Anything is possible, my friend," she said softly, her voice clear as a bell in the quiet room. "You just have to try hard enough."

McGonagall gave her a disapproving look.

She smiled. "Ah yes, the broomstick." She turned back to the offending object, and a frown creased her pale forehead. "Whoever sent this to Mister Potter did not mean well, that is clear."

"Well, that much is _obvious_," McGonagall retorted.

"And this same person took a lot of trouble to cover their tracks." She lightly chewed her lower lip. "I will need more time. Whatever enchantments—and there are many—in place on the illustrious Mister Potter's broomstick are very strong. I will need… much more time." She looked up at McGonagall, fixing the other with a piercing gaze. "And I would like to speak to Mister Potter himself."

---------

N.B.: _coalesco_ I heal (Latin); "_i__nfrasuperficiem_" derived from the Latin "infra" (beneath, under) and "superficies" (surface)


	5. The Use of Advanced Magic

Disclaimer etc.: see Prologue.

Updates here, updates there... This story has taken a hold of my mind, damnit.

Thanks go to my wonderful reviewers: **Kiljoy**, **Jasper J Heart**, **mione**, **twouble**, **the-missing-arm-of-krum**, **Ceitidh**, **Kokoro Onee chan**, **Sir Raphael**, **spuffyfan22**, **crashing-xx**, **Dwindlingcandle**, **smarty350**, **Mariarenee14**, **ThruSnape'sEyes**, **josephina**, **sweetiepie1019**, **Kazzabelle**, **Elisabeth Maxwell **and **STILLMISSINGPADFOOT**. I love you guys, and some of your reviews make me giggle!

R&R feeds the Muse and breeds the plotbunnies, and enjoy!

EDIT: Why did no one tell me there was a bloody typo in the last line?!

To Continue

_4 - The Use of Advanced Magic_

Silently, Ron padded up the stairs that led to his dormitory room – well, his and Harry's. He and Ginny had decided that, instead of traipsing around the castle and using up all their free time searching for McGonagall, they'd turn to the invaluable aid of the Marauders' Map.

_Small problem there, _Ron thought wryly as he paused next to the door.

He had it on the authority of half a dozen sixth years hanging around in the common room that Harry hadn't returned, but he wanted to be careful anyway. Another confrontation with a jinx-addled Harry Potter was something he wanted to avoid, at least until McGonagall had explained everything to him and his sister.

Cautiously he pushed the door ajar, holding his breath. Peering around the edge, he released a noisy sigh. The room was empty, complete with half-made beds and badly unpacked trunks.

"Looks like Harry wants to spend more time with his new best friend," Ron muttered bitterly. Potter's new blond-haired companion hadn't escaped his attention, even if he had been avoiding looking at Harry all through Charms. He shook his head and bent down beside Harry's bed, dragging his trunk out from under it.

He knew that Harry, wary of someone doing exactly what he was currently doing, had hidden the Map somewhere in his case, but his friend had neglected to mention exactly where – gingerly, Ron ran his fingers along the lining of the interior. Halfway around, just below the handle, his fingertips halted at the presence of a tiny bump. "Yes," he hissed softly, pulling his wand from his pocket. "_Diffindo_," he muttered, and the required slash appeared in the material. Sticking his wand between his teeth, he reached in and pulled out the familiar battered parchment of the Marauders' Map.

Hastily he tucked it into his pocket and muttered a quick, "_Reparo_," at the trunk—the lining fixed with a sound like a zip being dragged up—and he kicked it back under Harry's bed with a little more force than actually necessary.

"What are you doing?"

Ron nearly jumped out of his skin. He leapt to his feet, wand half-raised, immediately on guard. His eyes narrowed. "What are _you _doing?" he demanded, bringing his wand up into an offensive posture. "This is _my _room."

The blond-haired boy sniffed. "Harry sent me up to get his stuff for Herbology," he answered, seemingly unperturbed by Ron's aggressive response.

"He did," Ron stated flatly. "And why couldn't he come get it himself?"

"He wanted to talk to your sister," the blond stranger answered indifferently.

Ron's eyes narrowed and he dropped the tip of his wand. Two pairs of blue eyes met – both wary, both narrowed. Slowly, Ron stepped forward, his wand held loosely in his hand. "I don't know who you are, or what you want with Harry," he said softly, "but I'm warning you now – watch it."

"And I'm warning _you, _Ronald Weasley," the blond boy answered, a dangerous gleam in his cornflower blue eyes. "Stay out of things that don't concern you."

"This is my best friend," Ron answered sharply. "It concerns me."

The blond boy laughed, and Ron was jerkily reminded of the Malfoy of old, before Voldemort and murder took their toll on the Slytherin boy. "Best friends don't normally curse one another over breakfast," the other answered, his voice almost a whisper. "No, I'd say _that _kind of behaviour would be reserved for, oh I don't know… Death Eaters?"

Reacting purely on fury and instinct, a red haze swimming across his vision, Ron slammed the other boy up against the bedpost of his own four-poster, one arm across his throat and the other digging the tip of his wand into his pale jaw. There was no reaction from the blond boy; not even the tiniest flicker of shock in his eyes. He just stared at Ron, passive and emotionless. "Watch your tongue," Ron snarled, his nose barely an inch from the others. "Say _anything _like that around me again, and you'll find yourself in the hospital wing before you can even _think_ the words 'Death Eater'. Understand?"

"Perfectly," the other boy hissed.

Ron released him, stepping back, his wand hanging limply at his side. He stepped out of the room without another word, leaving Phil Parsons stood in the room he shared with Harry.

With a glance at the door and a rub of his throat, Phil withdrew his wand from his pocket and sketched a quick rectangle in the air, murmuring as he did so, "_Praeteritum tempus spectare._" The air before him fuzzed, thickening like mist. Colour seeped in, and abruptly an image of Ron bent over Harry's case, wand in hand, floated in the air before Phil.

Just outside the door, as he peeked through the gap between the door and its frame, Ron's eyes widened and he bolted down the stairs.

---------

"C'mon, Ginny. Let's go."

Ginny bolted to her feet at her older brother's voice, almost jumping away from Harry. He'd been trying to talk to her ever since his blond friend went up to the boys' dormitories, and she'd been studiously ignoring him, trying desperately not to cry. He gave her a soft spoken greeting, she turned her face away and stared fixedly at the fire. He tentatively reached out to touch her, and she jerked away. She wouldn't let him get close to her. She couldn't.

It hurt being this close to him – it hurt remembering what he'd said, even if the words were uttered in anger. So she immediately clung to Ron's side when he emerged from the boys' tower, and the pair of them slipped out of the portrait hole, leaving Harry sat in the common room, gazing after them with something akin to pain in his green gaze.

Halfway down the stairs outside the common room, Ginny turned to Ron. "Did you get it?"

He dragged the parchment out of his pocket. "I got it." He sighed, and rubbed his forehead. "But not without _another _argument."

Ginny frowned. "What happened?"

"That blond boy," Ron said, pulling his wand out of his pocket. "He cornered me in my room, just after I'd ripped Harry's trunk getting this out." He flipped the Map open with his thumb and tapped it with his wand, absently stating, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Ginny flashed him a sceptical eyebrow. "What did you do?"

Ron began to unfold the parchment, searching for the scroll bearing McGonagall's name. "Well, I very nearly followed your example and knocked him out," he replied with a wry twist to the corner of his lips, "but I decided to settle for just threatening him instead."

His sister rolled her eyes. "If he decides to go to a teacher you could get stuck in detention 'til Christmas," she remarked lightly.

Ron didn't smile. "I'd just say I was provoked," he muttered, turning a page on the Map with slightly more force than was strictly necessary. Tension rippled along his jaw.

"What?" When her brother didn't look up at her, Ginny slapped her hand down on the parchment before him, shooting him a reproving look. "Talk to me," she ordered.

Ron jaw was set as he finally directed his blue gaze at her. "He told me to stay out of things that didn't concern me." He bit his lip sharply, shaking his head. "He's bad news for Harry. There's something very wrong about him. Plus, he knows that I took the Map."

Ginny rounded on him. "_What?!_" she exclaimed.

A nearby portrait of a fat man lounging on a Roman-style couch shot the pair of them a disapproving look, before beckoning to one of the scantily-clad girls hanging around at the edges of the frame. She went over to him, sashaying her hips perhaps more than was necessary, and began to feed him grapes.

"It wasn't my fault!" Ron answered sharply, slightly quieter than his sister's shocked outburst. "After I'd left he said some kind of spell—and before you ask, no, I didn't recognise it—and he saw what I did."

"I don't understand."

Ron sighed and frowned, searching for the right words. "It was… It was an image in the air – just _floating _there. Colour and everything. But it was me. It was what I'd been doing about five minutes before." He exhaled sharply and shook his head. "I do _not _like that boy."

"We can ask Hermione about it later," Ginny said, abruptly pulling the Marauders' Map out of her brother's hands. She scanned the Map, not meeting her brother's gaze. Ron got the distinct feeling she was trying desperately not to think about it – he didn't blame her. Suddenly, she grinned. "There!" she said, stabbing at the Map. "McGonagall's in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom."

"What the _hell_ is she doing there?"

"Language, Ronald," Ginny reprimanded primly, before tapping the parchment with her wand and saying, "Mischief managed."

Ron grumbled. "You sound like Hermione."

Ginny sniffed, setting off again down the steps, Ron trailing behind her. "And you don't listen to her, either."

---------

"He's bad news for you, Harry."

Harry barely registered Phil's presence. His gaze was fixed on the portrait hole, where Ron and Ginny had exited. He didn't reply. The sofa dipped beside him as the blond boy sat down, dumping a small pile of books at Harry's feet, besides the slack schoolbag.

Phil sighed slightly at Harry's melancholy expression. He nudged Harry gently with his shoulder. "Are you listening to me?"

Harry blinked. As soon as Phil's shoulder had touched his, a funny feeling had swept through him – a kind of warm buzz. He shook himself abruptly. "Sorry, kind dozed off for a second there."

Phil smirked. "Didn't notice." Harry smiled, but the blond boy's face remained serious. "Seriously though. He's not good enough for you. You're _Harry Potter_ – the Boy-Who-Lived!" Phil shook his head, a frown creasing his lightly-tanned forehead. "Ronald Weasley… You can do _better_ than him."

For some reason, Phil's words were making sense to Harry. In that moment, none of the good times with Ron from the past seven years were flickering through his mind – just the arguments, the anger, and the hurt. A little, rebellious voice in the back of his head whispered, _He's given you nothing but trouble. He just wants to use you – he'll turn on you whenever he feels like it; he'll leave you when you're no longer of use. He already did. _

"_So why are you still here?" _

"_Search me." _

"_Go home then." _

"_Yeah, maybe I will!" _

Harry sighed. "Maybe you're right," he acquiesced softly. The buzzing reached his head, and his temples began to throb. With a tired sigh, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

Phil watched him, a smirk twisting his lips.

---------

Sharing a quick glance with his younger sister, Ron rapped on the door to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. "Professor McGonagall?" he called through the door.

Silence answered him.

He frowned at Ginny. "Map?" he asked.

She shook her head, one finger tapping the Marauders' Map. "Nope. She's still in there."

He sighed, and repeated his actions of a moment before. "Professor!"

Ron was promptly nearly whacked in the face as the door opened sharply in his face. He cursed softly and jumped backwards. "Yes, Mister Weasley?" McGonagall asked sharply.

"Ah, Professor, it's about Harry…"

"Yes, of course." She moved out from the entrance of the classroom to join the two Weasleys in the corridor, and fixed Ron with a piercing gaze. "How are you?" she asked softly.

"I'm fine, Professor," Ron answered shortly, not willing to go into exactly how he was feeling, which was most definitely _not _fine. "But do you know what's happening to Harry?"

McGonagall sighed. "Mister Weasley, I would prefer not to say anything about the situation right now—"

"Professor," Ron interrupted, with anger thrumming through his voice, "could you _please _just not bullshit us right now!" McGonagall blinked in shock, but Ron just kept talking. "It's been a hard day, and it's been a _bloody_ hard year. If there is something wrong with Harry—if someone has been messing with him—we want to know. We _have _to know."

McGonagall appeared flustered. "Be that as it may, Weasley—"

"_Please_, Professor." Ginny was the one to interrupt this time, and McGonagall turned to face her. "It's _Harry_."

Quiet hung in the corridor, as the two siblings watched their teacher.

"Dark magic, Mister Weasley," McGonagall replied quietly.

Ron and Ginny exchanged a worried glance. "Professor?" she asked.

"That's all I am going to say," McGonagall snapped, instantly back to her usual self. "Now, tell Potter that he has to be in this classroom at seven this evening."

She slipped back into the classroom, and the two Weasley siblings just looked at the door in mute surprise as it closed behind her.

---------

The day passed quickly. Ron and Ginny had passed McGonagall's message along to Hermione, who had (with reluctance) passed it on to Harry during Herbology, at which she had received a disapproving glare from Professor Sprout for talking over her. Hermione had flushed and glared sideways at Ron.

But the lessons had rolled on, and the end of the day found Ron and Hermione curled up in the same chair in the Gryffindor common room, with her nestled between his legs and leaning back against his chest. Ginny had left them alone half an hour before, retreating to her bedroom with her friends, exhausted and emotionally drained. A low buzz of chatter filled the room, but the couple in the armchair beside the fire were left alone.

"It doesn't feel like we've only been back at Hogwarts for one day," Hermione said thoughtfully, breaking the comfortable silence that had rested between them. "I mean, twenty-four hours and we've already done so much."

"It's been a long day."

Hermione sighed, turning her head so that her cheek lay against Ron's chest. "Poor Ginny," she said softly. "I can't imagine what she must be feeling right now."

"Well, she doesn't have to share a room with Harry tonight," Ron replied, huffing slightly. "That should be… interesting."

"Don't curse him again."

"Would I ever?"

She smiled, letting her eyes drift shut. He feathered a kiss across her forehead before resting his cheek against her hair and staring into the flames that danced in the fireplace. They were silent for a while, the warmth of the common room and the conversations around them lulling them into a kind of half-sleep, a restful quiet.

Until Ron shifted. "Hermione?" he said softly.

"Mmm?"

"Have you ever heard of spell that will kinda show what's just happened?"

She opened her eyes and sat up, half turning to face him. She frowned. "Some, I think. Why?"

"It's just…" Ron chewed his lip, looking slightly guilty. "Well, this morning, while you had Arithmancy, me and Ginny went looking for McGonagall—"

"I know."

"I know you know. Sshh." He mock-frowned at her and her lips twitched up at the corners. "But anyway. I went to nick the Marauders' Map from Harry's case—don't look at me like that!—and y'know that blond boy who he's been going around with all day? He cornered me."

Hermione frowned. She twisted round further, laying her hands flat against his chest. His heart beat beneath her palm. "Cornered you? What do you mean?"

"He asked me what I was doing, and then told me to stay out of things that didn't concern me." He shrugged, a crimson flush rising in his cheeks. "So I, ah…" He cleared his throat. "Well, we don't need to go into what I did—" Hermione gave him a disapproving look "—but then I left the room, and he said a spell and he saw what I'd just done, in nicking the Map. Neither me nor Ginny knew what it was, so we figured we'd ask you."

Hermione looked thoughtful. "Can you remember the incantation?" she asked, the fingertips of her left hand tapping a loose rhythm against his chest.

"Something like _praeterum temps spectre_? Maybe…"

She looked startled. "_Praeteritum tempus spectare_?"

He grinned. "Yeah! Do you know it?"

She nodded slowly. "But it's advanced magic – a student here wouldn't be able to perform it!"

"Well, apparently someone can," Ron countered.

"What's his name?" Hermione suddenly asked. "The blond boy."

"Dunno. I've never seen him before today. Ginny'll know. He's in her year."

She gave him a look. "So are we."

He looked uncomfortable. "Don't remind me."

Instead of laughing, she reached up and gently touched his cheek, grazing her fingertips against the barely-there stubble that had developed on his jaw over the course of the day. "Does it bother you," she asked, "being back at Hogwarts?"

He looked down, avoiding her gaze. "A bit, I guess," he replied softly. "I mean, it's all different." He shrugged. "I know that things _can't _be the same as they were before, but I wish they were. I wish that we had our _own _year here, instead of Ginny's. I wish that Dumbledore was still here. I wish all the people who died in the Battle were here. Hell, I even wish _Snape _was here." He shook his head slightly. "It's all so different."

She leant forward and gently kissed him, just pressing her lips to his. "We'll get used to it," she replied softly.

Ron sighed, finally meeting her dark gaze. "I hope you're right," he answered plainly.

---------

On the dot at seven, Harry slowly pushed open the door to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, peering into the darkened room. "Hello?" he called tentatively, one hand brushing against his inside pocket for the reassuring line of his wand. "Is anyone there?"

Candles, dotted around the room, began to light themselves. "Come in, Harry Potter," a soft, feminine voice intoned, and Harry stepped inside the classroom before he could help himself.

"Um, I was told to come here?" he tried, peering into the still semi-dark classroom.

"Yes, you were." That same gently-accented voice.

"Why?"

Harry jumped as a pale, long-fingered hand landed on his shoulder. He looked to the side as his heart pounded away in his chest, and suppressed an awed gasp. "Because I sent for you," the woman touching his shoulder replied, beginning to guide him towards the front of the classroom. "I was asked by Professor McGonagall to examine your broomstick, in light of the…events of this morning."

Harry's throat clenched, but he didn't say anything.

"But," she continued, "the spell is often inextricably linked to its victim, so I wished to speak to _you_, Mister Potter."

"Call me Harry," he replied automatically.

She didn't reply to his request. They reached the front of the classroom and she released his shoulder, turning to face him. "Why did you do it?" she asked.

"Do what?"

"Send your supposed best friend into an emotional breakdown."

Harry's stomach lurched. "What?"

Surprise flickered briefly across her features, but then her pale face smoothed. "You didn't know." She studied him for a moment longer, taking in the self-recrimination that was swimming in his green eyes, and then shook her head almost imperceptibly. "No matter. Answer the question."

"Why?"

"Because I wish to know. And because it may help me work out what has been done to you."

"Done to me?" Harry asked. "Nothing's been done to me."

She regarded him sceptically. "You usually hurt your friends like this?"

"No, but—"

"Something has been done to you, Mister Potter, and I intend to find out what." She sighed softly and licked her upper lip – Harry blinked and frowned at what he thought he saw, feeling a white-hot surge of alarm ripple through him. "But, as you seem reluctant to co-operate, and also rather…clueless, I believe the word is, I will have to resort to slightly more… _drastic_ measures."

Harry took a step backwards. "What does that mean?" he asked guardedly, his hand straying closer to his wand. A feeling that Ron—sadness and confusion flickered through him at the thought of Ron— had affectionately termed as Harry's 'danger sense' flickered to life in his chest.

"That does not concern you," she replied softly. She reached out, lightly touched one fingertip to the side of his neck, just above the adrenaline-fuelled _thud-thud _of his pulse, and caught him as his eyes rolled back in his head and his knees buckled, sending him groundward in a crumpled pile of limbs.

---------

N.B.: "_praeteritum tempus spectare_" – "praeteritum tempus" (the past, literally 'the past time') and "spectare" (to look at, to watch); infers "to look at the past" (I'm proud of that one :D)


	6. In the Hospital Wing

Disclaimer etc.: see Prologue.

Thanks to those people who reviewed**Dwindlingcandle**, **irishchick**, **Sir Raphael**, **iamsheena**, **Hubristic Chick**, **Courtneyyyy**, **sweetiepie1019**, **dnd4ever**, **twouble**, **reddishdweeb**, **Elisabeth Maxwell**, **snowyowl7**, **ThruSnape'sEyes**, **crashing-xx**, **EnglishGrlVerity**, **scribhneoir**, **GoodMorningCampers**, **josephina**, **Kokoro Onee chan**, **do i have to? **(yes), **Generic Gen**, **STILLMISSINGPADFOOT **and **UBambassador2006**. I love you all!

R&R is blessed to the Muse, and enjoy!

To Continue

_5 - In t__he Hospital Wing_

They'd fallen asleep like that – intertwined in a chair beside the fire, and none of their fellow Gryffindors had had the heart to wake them. Chuckles made their way around the common room, along with various comments about their lack of loud arguments and how _long _it had taken them. But Ron and Hermione were left alone, his arms around her, her head tucked into the side of his neck.

But one set of eyes watched them appraisingly.

Phil stood at the foot of the stairs that led to the boys' rooms, arms crossed loosely and a hard blue gaze fixed on the sleeping couple. None of the normally-friendly Gryffindors tried to speak to him – in fact, none of them even looked at him. It was as if, to them, he didn't exist.

Time passed, and the atmosphere in Gryffindor common room became quieter and warmer, as the sky darkened outside and the fires crackled contentedly.

Until a frightened first year stumbled through the portrait hole, clutching a bag full of books and scanning the common room intently. The mousy-haired girl, still wearing an expression of nervous intensity, crept over to the sleeping Ron and Hermione, and reached out, gently shaking the shoulder of the former.

Quiet rippled through the common room as Ron stirred with a groan, one hand leaving its place at Hermione's waist to scrub at his eyes. His blue gaze found the first year, and he sighed. "What?" he grumbled, nearly dislodging Hermione as he shifted in the chair. He caught her before she fell, and her dark eyes blinked up at him accusingly. He grinned, awake again, and dropped a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"Professor McGonagall told me to get you," the first year mumbled.

Ron and Hermione exchanged a worried glance. With intuition honed by years of fighting at Harry Potter's side, they reached the same conclusion immediately. "Sweet Merlin, no," Hermione whispered softly.

"She said you were to go to the hospital wing," the messenger continued. "That it's about Harry Potter." The girl's eyes widened incrementally on Harry's name, which was spoken in an awed whisper, as if merely speaking those few syllables made her feel closer to the famed Chosen One.

The common room was dead quiet for a mere moment, all eyes fixed on the two in the armchair. Finally, Ron sighed. "It's our second day back," he complained into the silence.

Hermione flashed him a small smile, her gaze loaded with worry. "Here we go again."

And then they were out of the chair and running for the portrait hole.

Phil hadn't moved from his position at the foot of the stairs, but when the two of them left the common room and the inquisitive chatter of the Gryffindors started up again at an all-new high, he turned, no trace of emotion on his smooth features, and moved up the stairs and into the shadows of the staircase.

Second later, when a pair of bickering third years ascended those very same stairs, a strange blond-haired boy with hard blue eyes was nowhere to be found.

---------

The hospital wing was quiet, as, funnily enough, only _one_ person had managed to get themselves injured this early in the term.

Ron and Hermione stood on either side of Harry's bed, looking down at their old friend. The redhead sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. "Only Harry," he muttered, "would manage to get himself banged up on the _second day _of school."

Hermione's lips twitched upwards, just slightly, as she brushed an unruly lock of black hair off Harry's face. She glanced back over her shoulder at Professor McGonagall, who was stood at the foot of the bed, a frown adorning her forehead. "What happened, Professor?" she asked.

"Apparently, he passed out," McGonagall replied, staring at the boy in the bed, her fingers pressed against her chin.

"He just 'passed out'?" Ron asked, disbelieving. "Just like that? Harry Potter just passed out?"

"Apparently," McGonagall replied heavily.

"But, Professor—"

"Mister Weasley!" McGonagall retorted sharply, finally removing her gaze from Harry and fixing a steely glare on Ron. "This is neither the time nor the place for an argument, I think you'll agree."

Ron turned away from her and sat down with a muttered profanity, fingers fisted in his shirt. He slouched down in the low hospital wing seat, a worried blue gaze fixed on the still-unconscious Harry.

With a final look over at Harry, and a nod to Hermione, McGonagall left, sweeping out of the hospital wing in a flutter of black cloth.

"Ginny's gonna be mad that we didn't tell her," Ron commented softly.

"She'll find out soon, and she'll be down here like a shot," Hermione replied, just as soft. Her fingers rested lightly on the back of Harry's limp hand, but she was gazing at Ron.

"And I'll get yelled at for not bringing her down with us," Ron sighed, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. Dark circles were beginning to show up against his freckled skin.

Hermione smiled. "I expect she'll be too busy worrying about Harry to chastise _you_," she pointed out.

"I s'pose."

"Much."

Ron snorted with soft laughter. "Thanks for that."

"Any time."

"_Harry!_"

"Oh, speak of the devil," Ron mumbled, stretching his legs out along the floor and arching his back off the chair, stretching his tired body.

Ginny skidded to a halt beside Harry's bed, an aghast expression scrawled across her face. Her eyes were wide as she gazed at him, stumbling over her brother's outstretched legs in her haste to reach his side. "Harry," she whispered, taking his hand between hers, her thumb stroking small circles over the back of his hand.

Exchanging a glance with Hermione, Ron rose to his feet and laid a comforting hand on Ginny's shoulder. She startled slightly at his touch, and looked up at him. "What happened?" she asked softly.

"McGonagall's not talking," Ron answered quietly. He squeezed her shoulder. "But we're gonna find out."

Ginny looked down again, and slowly sat down at Harry's side, her weight dipping the mattress. She reached out and gently laid her hand against his cheek. "How does he manage to do this?" she asked softly.

Ron snorted. "He's Harry. It's what he does."

Hermione looked down, suppressing a smile.

But Ginny was frowning, her fingers dropping from her boyfriend's face to gently dust her fingertips over the skin of his neck. "Ron," she said slowly, leaning forward. "Am I seeing things?"

"Of course you are." Ron glanced over her shoulder, followed her fingers, and frowned. "Whoa. Maybe we _both_ are." He moved around her and crouched down beside the bed, the tips of his fingers hooked over the edge of the mattress.

"What is it?" Hermione moved around the bed to join them, her arms crossed.

"It looks like…" Ron frowned. "Kinda like he's been _bitten._"

"What?" Hermione bent down beside Ron, one hand on his shoulder and the other on the bed. "You're right!"

Ginny traced the tiny white marks on Harry's neck. "It looks like they've healed over, though," she commented. "But they weren't there this morning."

Hermione began to stand. "We've got to get Professor McGonagall."

"No!" Ron hissed, seizing her wrist.

"Ron—"

"Hermione, Madam Pomfrey _cannot _have missed this," Ron interrupted, casting a wary gaze out towards the half-closed door where a small group of teachers were clustered. "And McGonagall said nothing about it. If we tell them we've seen these… marks, then who knows what shit we might end up it!"

"Don't swear, Ronald," Hermione cautioned automatically, but her gaze was troubled.

He rolled his eyes. "They don't want us to know about whatever happened to Harry," he continued softly, urgency thrumming through his voice. "So I think, in the true spirit of being a bunch of nosy prats—" the two girls smiled at that "—we should figure it out."

Hermione and Ginny exchanged a glance. Ron shrugged. "C'mon guys. What have we been _doing _the past seven years? And we _know _that something is going on."

Hermione sighed. "Fine," she acquiesced, returning to her position between the two Weasley siblings. Ron flashed her a grin, and the three of them turned back to their fallen friend. "But how do we figure out what happened without the teachers?" she asked softly.

Ginny tore her gaze away from Harry and turned to Ron. "What about that spell you told me about?" she said.

"The one the blond kid used?"

"Yeah."

"We can't use _that_," Hermione interjected. "Like I told Ron, it's highly advanced magic. Much as I hate to admit it, I don't think we've got quite the ability to use something like that effectively."

Ron shrugged. "Worth a shot, isn't it?"

"Ron, it would be _impossible._"

"Well let's do the impossible then." He grinned. "We've done it before."

Hermione sighed and pulled her wand out of her pocket. She shot Ron a despairing look and he grinned at her. "So what do I do?"

"Sorta…" Ron gestured vaguely. "Draw a rectangle in the air, while saying it?"

"Won't work," Hermione retorted.

"Just _try_, okay?"

With a final disbelieving look to Ron, she raised her wand. "_Praeteritum tempus spectare_," she recited softly, whilst flicking her wand-tip in an elegant rectangle. Nothing happened, and she returned her gaze to Ron. "See?"

He pulled a face, and dragged his own wand out of his back pocket. "Let me try." Hermione met Ginny's gaze, and they rolled their eyes in tandem. He noticed. "What? Have faith in me!"

"Yeah," Hermione said, looking away.

"Sure," Ginny added.

He scowled, turned away from them, and repeated Hermione's motions of a moment ago, muttering the incantation with a frown of focus on his face. The girls watched him, amused. The moment he was finished, the air began to fuzz in the wake of his wand. He grinned at them. "See?"

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed. "How did you do that?"

"Sshh!" He waved a hand in her direction as colour began to fade into the misty air before him, and shapes took form. "Look!" he whispered, stabbing at the image. "It's Harry!"

"But who's she?" Ginny asked, frowning at the woman standing opposite Harry.

"It's the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom," Hermione said softly. "Maybe she's the new teacher."

"Then what the hell is she doing attacking Harry?" Ron interjected sharply.

Image-Harry collapsed in a boneless heap in the air, and the pale-skinned teacher stood over him in the semi-dark classroom, a tranquil expression on her not-quite pretty features. She knelt down beside the black-haired teenager and lightly tipped his head to one side, one red fingernail tracing down to rest against the almost-visible pounding of his pulse. She dipped down, hair falling around her face and—

"I'm sorry, you three, but you're going to _have_ to leave."

Ron jumped to his feet guiltily, hiding their experimentation, as Hermione flicked out her wand and muttered a hasty, "_Finite._" The brown-haired girl joined Ron while Ginny remained seated beside Harry, all three of them looking up at the approaching Professor McGonagall.

"But Professor—" Ron protested.

"No, Mister Weasley, all three of you have to leave _now_." McGonagall looked them over sternly. "It is the beginning of term and you need to rest. Mister Potter will be right here when you come back in the morning."

Hermione caught his sleeve with her fingertips. "Ron, don't fight," she whispered.

Ron let out a short sigh. "Fine. We'll go."

But before they could leave, before they could head back to the common room and dissect what they'd found out, McGonagall reached out her hand. "Your wand, Mister Weasley," she said.

"Huh?"

"Give me your wand."

"What? Why?!"

"Weasley…" There was a warning note in McGonagall's voice, and Hermione gently nudged Ron. With a sigh Ron pulled his wand from his pocket and reluctantly handed it to the teacher. "Thank you," she said primly and tucked the wand into her robes.

"Hang on," Ron protested. "You can't take my wand!"

"I think you'll find I just did, Mister Weasley," McGonagall retorted.

"But…" Ron couldn't quite find the words.

"You may not go prying into things that do not concern you, Weasley," McGonagall instructed, her voice stern. "And spells like that—" she pointed towards the area where their stolen spell had been hovering "—bring _no _good to anyone. Now, Mister Weasley, you may have your wand back at the _end_ of the week, and no sooner!"

Without another word she gathered the three of them up and ushered them out of the hospital wing. With a final glance back at Harry, who now had Madam Pomfrey hovering over him, she pushed the doors closed with a resounding thud. She shepherded them all the way back to the Gryffindor common room, allowing them no privacy to discuss what had just happened, and once inside the common room they were pinned by fifty-odd inquisitive gazes.

The three of them shared a tired glance, and came to a silent agreement to leave it until morning.

---------

" 'Mione, how much longer?" Ron complained softly, leaning his cheek against the smoothness of her robes. The two of them were sat in the hospital wing at Harry's bedside, while Ginny at her Care of Magical Creatures class – she had desperately tried to get McGonagall to let her off, but the Transfiguration teacher had merely shooed her away.

"Quiet, Ron," Hermione murmured, still flicking the pages of the book on her lap, scanning each side and moving on. "We had to argue long and hard with Madam Pomfrey just to be let in here, so—" she turned to face him, a smile twitching her lips "—_sshh._"

He pulled at face at her, before turning around in his seat and gazing at the still-unconscious Harry. According to Pomfrey, he hadn't woken up the entire night, but that that was to be expected, in his… condition. When Ron had asked what Harry's condition was, Pomfrey had blustered for a moment and then bustled away to her office. The pair had attempted a repeat of Phil's stolen spell last night, using Hermione's wand, but it hadn't worked.

So they'd set up camp, books strewn across the foot of Harry's bed and Hermione's lap.

Ron looked down at the book in his lap and flipped it open half-heartedly, scanning down the page. "Hey!" he hissed sharply, earning himself a warning glare from Madam Pomfrey. "I found it!" He tipped the open book onto Hermione's lap, and she bent over it, studying the text he indicated.

"It says it's called a Temporal Reveal Charm," she murmured, forehead frowned slightly as she read the relevant section.

Ron snorted softly, and Hermione glanced over at him. "What?" she asked.

"Advanced magic, my arse," he retorted – she glared at him. "That's my Charms textbook!" He grinned. "And here I was, thinking you'd read this book cover to cover!"

"It's been a busy summer, Ronald," Hermione shot back. "If you'd've got off your backside for long enough to actually do some work, you'd've noticed that." She smiled primly at him, and returned to reading his Charms textbook.

Ron pull a face, before propping his chin on her shoulder and asking, "Does it say anything about why it won't work with your wand?"

"As a matter of fact…" Her finger tapped a point on the page, but his gaze didn't shift from her face. "Right here. It says that it will only work when the wand doing the casting has a specific magical core – in this case, unicorn hair." She sighed tightly. "That'swhy _I_ couldn't perform the spell and _you_ could." She looked sideways at Ron, bringing their faces into perilously close proximity.

He smiled lazily. "Jealous?"

She shot him a half-amused look. "You wish."

"Spoilsport." Ron shifted his chin on her shoulder, thinking. "It's probably why McGonagall took my wand," Ron mused softly. "So we couldn't perform the charm again." He turned his head, once again resting his cheek on her shoulder and looking down at the open book under her fingers. "Does it say how long the affect lasts?"

"Uh…" Hermione turned back to the book. "Yeah – about thirty-six hours from the start of the incident in question."

"Definitely why she took my wand," Ron grumbled. "She said I'd get it back at the end of the week, and it's Thursday today, so it'll be the end of tomorrow at the earliest." He shrugged, and she felt the movement through her shoulders. "Too late by then."

"What about Ginny's wand?" Hermione asked.

Ron frowned, thinking. "Nah, I think hers is dragon heartstring, like yours." He nodded. "Yeah, alder and dragon heartstring. That's what Ollivander said when we bought it."

"Luna?" Hermione suggested.

Ron chewed his lip, a crease running down the centre of his forehead. "Not sure, but I don't think it's unicorn hair. And anyway, where are we going to find Luna?"

"Who else do we know?" Hermione asked.

"Who else can we _trust_?" Ron replied softly. "Me, you, Harry, Ginny, Luna. We don't know the others well enough to tell them what we're doing, and if you ask to borrow someone's wand they're gonna ask what you're doing."

"You're right," she sighed. "That's _that _idea out the window." She frowned, her fingertips tapping a lively rhythm on the worn paper and faded ink before her. "Somebody's going to a _lot_ of trouble to make sure whatever happened to Harry is forgotten."

"I can't believe McGonagall would just… play along," Ron said softly. "But that's what she's doing. Playing along."

"Maybe not," Hermione mused.

He turned his gaze to her. "Hermione, she took my _wand. _All to stop us finding this out what happened."

"But maybe she's not playing along," Hermione said softly, a note of almost-fear in her voice. "Maybe she's in charge."

"_McGonagall_?" Ron asked, incredulity in his whisper. "You're joking."

"No, it makes sense!" Hermione hissed. "Like you said, McGonagall _wouldn't _just play along with a cover-up like this. So maybe she's the cause of it! At the very _least _she agrees with why it's being hidden."

Ron thought about it for a moment, and the hospital wing was silent. "You might be right," he said slowly. "And, if you're right, I'm guessing Madam Pomfrey's in on it too." At Hermione's furrowed brow, he sniffed. "She _was_ kinda flustered when we asked about Harry."

Hermione sighed softly, and Ron was startled to see the beginnings of tears reflecting in her eyes. "I thought that it would all end with Voldemort's defeat," she whispered. "I thought that everything would be okay. But now…" She let out a long breath. "Now there's a rift between us, Harry's unconscious in a hospital bed and the teachers are going to drastic measures to hide the reason _why _he's in a hospital bed from us." She sighed and rubbed at her tired eyes.

"And there's a strange blond boy following Harry around like a demented puppy," Ron added softly.

Hermione managed a small smile. "There is that."

Ron sighed and slipped out of his chair, kneeling on the ground before her. He took her hands between his and looked up, into her eyes, flashing her a half-hearted lopsided grin. "C'mon, Hermione. It'll be okay – you told me that, remember?"

She sighed. "I know."

"And you're _always _right." She smiled at that. "So you'll be right this time." He reached up and laid his palm against her cheek, stroking her skin with his thumb. "And guess what?" he added, with a grin that smacked of mischief.

"What?" Hermione asked warily.

"I've got an idea."

"Oh no," she groaned.

Ron smirked. "Do you know a way of finding out what core is inside a wand without, y'know, snapping it?" he asked.

Hermione nodded, confused. "Yeah, there's a spell—"

"Good." Ron stood, pulling her to her feet with him. "In that case, as we don't know a student who we can trust who has a wand with a unicorn hair core, we're just going to have to find an… alternative source."

"Oh no," Hermione said softly, beginning to understand the gleam in his eye. "Ronald Weasley, you're not suggesting we _steal _a wand?"

He chuckled. "Not just _any _wand. A _teacher's _wand." He shrugged. "Serves 'em right for keeping things from us."

She groaned and covered her face with her hands. "I don't _believe_ you," she whispered.

"What can I say?" he retorted, a smile splitting his freckled features. "I'm a Weasley." He winked at her. "Let's go see what Flitwick's up to."

"We are going to get into _so _much trouble," she moaned as he dragged her out of the hospital wing.

"Only if we get caught," he shot back, and they ran through the corridors, trainers slapping the stone flags as they flitted through Hogwarts, leaving an unconscious Harry behind, surrounded by open books and sunny quiet.

---------


	7. Impossible Memories and Lies That Aren't

Disclaimer etc.: see Prologue.

Thanks to my lovely reviewers: **bellaonbroadway**, **Cha-chan-hyper**, **funkyfairygirl**, **EdwardsGirl4ever**, **nene cabajes**, **scorpiagirl93**, **Eruvyweth**, **EnglishGrlVerity**, **James Beston**, **Sir Raphael**, **iamsheena**, **irishchick**, **twouble**, **sweetiepie1019**, **MissMarauder-xx**, **Kimmilein**, **Emerald-Torch**, **junebug07**, **Lady Adriane of Katherine**, **UnangelicHalo**, **xforgottenxmemoriesx**, **Generic Gen**, **ThruSnape'sEyes**, **isa**, **josephine**, **Kokoro Onee chan**, **Augustus Snodgrass**, **EpicLoVe**, **I HAVE to have a name?!**, **RaeDawq00 **and **breaghd**. I love you all! So much! With cookies and kittens and all sorts of strange things...

R&R is blessed to the Muse and helps me figure out what I'm doing with this fic, and enjoy!

To Continue

_6 - Impossible Memories and Lies-That-Aren't_

The hospital wing was quiet, with only Madam Pomfrey bustling around the airy space and the occasional ghost gliding through the walls, giving the busy woman a soft greeting. Harry remained unconscious, not disturbed by the bell for lesson change which sounded five minutes after Ron and Hermione had left, or by the arrival of a crying second year who'd managed to Transfigure her desk into a bull elephant. The girl had ended up on the floor with a broken leg while McGonagall chased the crazed animal around the school.

It was only after Madam Pomfrey and the shaken second year had left that Harry stirred, and that was only with a helping hand.

The door to Pomfrey's office was cracked open and Phil slipped out, wand in hand. With a quick flick of his wrist the door sealed itself with a soft squelching sound, and he walked slowly over to Harry's bedside, his shoes squeaking on the clean floor. He brushed one clinical fingertip over the twin white scars on the unconscious teenager's neck, before crouching down in almost the exact same position Ron had assumed the night before. He extended his wand and touched the marred skin with its tip – a murmur of "_Deletrius Impervius" _and the marks vanished. Unblemished flesh was all that remained.

Task completed, Phil moved the books off one of the two chairs beside Harry and drew it closed to the immobile form. He seated himself in the low seat and raised his wand once more. "_Rennervate," _he intoned, before slipping it back into his pocket and sitting back, gazing listlessly out of the window as if he'd been there all along.

Harry stirred, groaning softly. A hand came up from beneath the sheets to press against his forehead, and the other instinctively began a search for his missing glasses. Phil lifted said glasses off the small table beside Harry and pressed them into his hand.

Harry pushed his glasses on his face, his eyes still closed against the sunlight. "Thanks," he mumbled, before looking up at Phil. He started. "Where're Ron, Hermione and Ginny?" he asked, confused, scanning the hospital wing.

Phil's face morphed into a similarly confused expression. "They're not here," he answered slowly. "I mean, they _were _here, but they left. I don't know where they went."

Harry took in the scattered spell books and frowned. "What were they doing?" he asked softly.

Phil shrugged wordlessly.

Harry rubbed his forehead. "But… I heard them talking to me. Something about McGonagall?"

Phil's eyebrow rose. "McGonagall?" He smiled and leaned forward. "Harry, mate, I think you might've been dreaming."

Harry propped himself up on his elbows. "I s'pose."

Phil watched him intently. "What do you remember?" he asked quietly. "The teachers said that you collapsed in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom – do you remember anything?"

His forehead furrowed as he thought. "I remember a woman – a really _weird _woman. I think she touched me, and then…" He faltered, his hand coming up to absently brush his fingertips against the side of his neck. "Nothing."

Phil nodded slowly. "She attacked you?"

"I dunno – maybe. It's all kinda… fuzzy." Harry groaned softly, pressing his hand against his forehead.

Phil leaned back. "You should rest," he instructed. "You've only just woken up and—"

"Wait." Harry had frozen, shock and disbelief inscribed across his features. "There was something else."

"Harry?"

"I woke up—well, kinda—in the classroom. It was hazy – I was confused." He was speaking slowly, as if dredging something up from the very recesses of his memories. "My neck hurt." His fingers brushed his skin once more. "I could feel blood."

"There's nothing there," Phil offered.

"No, that's not it." Harry frowned, a tangled mess of emotions dancing in his green eyes. "I saw him. I saw him, but that's impossible. He's _dead_."

Intrigued, Phil shifted in his chair. "Who?" he asked. His voice dropped to a whisper as he made the obvious assumption. "The Dark Lord?"

"No," Harry quickly countered, his intense gaze still fixed on the bedcovers that covered his feet. "Not Voldemort. Not him." He shook his head.

"_Who?_"

Harry looked up, and green eyes met cornflower blue. "I saw _Moody_," he whispered, as if even uttering the name was blasphemous. "I saw Mad-Eye Moody. But he's dead. He died the night I lost my broom. He's _dead._"

"Harry, I don't think you're very well," Phil said softly, rising to his feet to gently press the other back down to a horizontal position. "If he's dead, then you didn't see him. You dreamt it."

"But—"

"No, Harry," Phil cautioned firmly. "Quiet. Close your eyes."

Confused, tired and in shock, Harry did as he was bidden, his whole body going limp against the white sheets. Phil withdrew his wand from his pocket and gently touched it to Harry's temple.

Harry's eyes flew open. "What—"

But then his eyes rolled back in his head and he was deeply asleep, his eyeballs flickering back and forth beneath their lids.

Phil removed his wand. "Alastor Moody," he murmured softly. "Interesting." The blond-haired boy bent over Harry, concentrated, and whispered, "_Obliviate._"

Harry shifted slightly in his sleep as the memories he'd just imparted to Phil Parsons were wiped away.

---------

"Look! There's Flitwick!"

"I can't believe you're making me do this!"

"C'mon, _quick_! He's moving off!"

"Fine!" Hermione flicked the tip of her wand in a tiny circle, lips moving soundlessly as she did so. A tiny flame blossomed in the centre of the circle she'd drawn, which she rapidly shielded with her hand. The flame briefly turned purple, and then a shimmering rune was sketched in the air in scarlet fire.

Hermione shook her head and closed her fist around the red rune – smoke curled out from between her fingers. " Phoenix feather," she murmured to Ron, and he pulled a face in protest. "Ron, can we move?" Hermione asked sharply. "My knees are starting to go numb."

"Fine," Ron grumbled. He checked the corridor in both directions and then whipped Harry's borrowed Invisibility Cloak over their heads, jumping to his feet. He studied the shimmering cloak in his hands, and then began to fold it up. "I'm taking a lot of stuff from Harry recently," he murmured.

"Which reminds me," Hermione interrupted. "Have you put the Map back yet?"

"Ginny's got it," was Ron's only answer.

Hermione sighed, crossing her arms and looking up at Ron. "What now?" she asked.

"McGonagall?" he offered.

"Ron, we have Transfiguration with her third period. We are _not _stealing her wand before then!"

He flashed her a lopsided grin. "We're not going to _steal _a wand, Hermione," he reprimanded her softly. "We're just _borrowing _one."

"You're dreadful," was her succinct response.

He grinned and wrapped his fingers around her wrist. "C'mon. Let's go find McGonagall."

She pulled her wrist away from him. "Ron, do we have to do this _now_?" she asked, exasperated. "We've got until about seven tomorrow morning, and I have a translation for Runes that's in for tomorrow that I am _going _to do, no matter what… tomfoolery you want to get up to!"

Ron snorted with laughter. "Tomfoolery?" he asked.

Hermione flushed and didn't respond.

Ron curbed his amusement and returned to the matter at hand. "Seven? How'd you figure?"

Hermione sighed. "Harry was called to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom at seven in the evening. Thirty-six hours on from then is seven tomorrow morning."

"Ah yes, but the book also said 'about'." Ron grimaced. "I don't like the word about. Too vague." He refocused on her. "It means the damn spell might not work at seven tomorrow morning – it might not even work at _five! _So the sooner we get it over and done with, the better."

Hermione crossed her arms stubbornly. "I am not going searching for McGonagall with you."

"Then I'll go on my own!" Ron shot back.

"You don't know the spell," she retorted.

"And?"

Hermione sighed. "Ron, just wait _one _period 'til Transfiguration, okay? _Then _I'll do it."

"She'll see you."

"I'll be discrete."

"She's McGonagall. She sees _everything._"

"Ronald, we do have things called desks in our classrooms. Somehow I don't think Professor McGonagall can see through desks."

"You never know," Ron grumbled.

Hermione gave him a look.

"She made the desks attack the Death Eaters!" Ron answered, without quite realising what a bizarre sentence he'd just uttered.

"Just because she can use a spell that will make a desk move doesn't mean she can see through them," Hermione said patiently.

He eyed her for a second, before realising that he wasn't going to win, and giving in. "Fine," he grumbled. "Have it your way."

She grinned. "In that case, let's get back to Harry."

"Harry this, Harry that…" Ron rolled his eyes, tagging along behind Hermione as she walked confidently through the corridors. "Why don't you just go date _Harry_?"

"Because Ginny would kill me," Hermione answered over her shoulder, her lips twitching upwards into a smile.

He shrugged reluctantly. "True."

---------

"It doesn't feel right leaving him alone here," Hermione said softly, a stack of books under one arm and a bag in the other. "What if he wakes up and there's no one here?"

"Madam Pomfrey's here," Ron answered distractedly, trying to fit the literary remnants of their research session into his schoolbag – it wasn't working. "She'll look after him."

"But—"

"Look, Hermione, I think Harry's a big boy now," Ron interrupted, finally forcing his bag closed. "He doesn't need us to hold his hand." He slung his bag over his shoulder and faced her, arms crossed across his chest. "We have to get to Transfiguration. _You _have a spell to perform."

"Do I have to?"

"Yes."

"We are going to get into _so _much trouble."

Ron smirked and guided her out of the hospital wing, his hand on her elbow. "You're saying that a lot today," he remarked.

"See what you do to me?"

"Ah, you love it really."

She snorted in a very un-Hermione fashion, and then stalked off down the corridor, head held high. Ron smiled, and turned to pull the doors to the hospital wing shut. As he did so, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a small, flat pebble, banded across the middle with a white stripe. He ran his thumb along the bright line and glanced up at Harry, his forehead lightly furrowed. He sighed softly and tucked the stone back into his pocket.

"Coming?" Hermione called from the end of the corridor.

"Yeah," he replied, pulling the doors shut and jogging after her.

She gave him a puzzled look. "What were you doing?"

He shrugged. "Just checking on Harry."

She nodded slowly. "Right."

"Yeah, exactly!" He didn't meet her gaze, instead intently studying a portrait of two very fat men that adorned the wall. One of them made a rude gesture at him, and he blinked, averting his eyes.

She rolled her eyes. "I will get it out of you," she warned primly.

He grinned sideways at her. "Sure you will."

They were the last to arrive outside the Transfiguration classroom, a few minutes later, and Ginny pounced on them immediately. "How is he? Did he wake up? Did you find the… thing out? Did you figure out what the marks were?"

"Fine, no, yes, and we've already established that," Ron answered concisely. He grinned at his sister, and she gave him a withering look and turned to Hermione expectantly.

"Harry is fine – still unconscious, but fine," Hermione said smoothly, assuaging Ginny's first concern. "We were with him for… _most _of the time—" she shot Ron a dirty look "—and he didn't show any signs of waking."

"Okay," Ginny said, and the single word almost sounded like a sigh of relief. Ron smirked.

"And about the… thing," Hermione said in a softer voice. "Yes, we did find out why, and yes, we have got a plan as to how to fix it." She sighed. "Or I should say _Ronald _has a plan and he's dragging me along for the ride."

"_Ron_ has a _plan_?"

Ron frowned at the disbelieving tone in his sister's voice.

"Ron has a plan," Hermione confirmed. "A stupid plan, but a plan nonetheless."

Ron wasn't given a chance to defend himself (or his plan) as the door was opened and McGonagall called them in. He settled for just looking very affronted and sulking all the way to his desk. "It's not a stupid plan," he complained to Hermione as they unpacked. "It's a very _good_ plan."

"It's a stupid plan," Hermione reiterated, before sitting up straight in her chair and turning her attention to McGonagall in a very clear gesture of dismissal.

Ron grinned, still slouched in his own chair, and snuck his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him – she squeaked as he did so. "Then why are you going along with it?" he whispered directly into her ear, smirking as he felt shivers run through her body.

"Ron—" she gasped.

"Now, if Mister Weasley and Miss Granger are _quite _finished, I'd like to begin the lesson," McGonagall spoke out over the class, earning chuckles from the students as every eye turned to the two in question.

Hermione immediately jerked away from Ron, sitting up ramrod straight, her cheeks the same colour as his hair. "That was totally inappropriate!" she hissed, refusing to look at him.

"Serves you right for calling my plan stupid," Ron hissed back, a smug smile firmly in place on his lips.

"Bastard," Hermione bit off.

Ron blinked in surprise, gaping at her. "Language!"

Ginny, seated two rows behind them, had half her fist stuffed into her mouth to stop herself laughing out loud.

The lesson wore on, mainly compromised of note taking and listening to McGonagall, until the teacher went around the class handing out fluffy white feathers, instructing each student to Transfigure their feather into something "interesting". At this instruction Ron's hand shot up.

McGonagall paused halfway around the class and sighed. "Yes, Mister Weasley?" she asked with exaggerated patience.

"What do we do if we don't have a wand?" he asked, smiling mock-sweetly.

"Well, if you've forgotten your wand, Weasley, you will just have to observe Miss Granger," McGonagall answered, placing a feather on the desk of a scruffy-haired Ravenclaw. "And how exactly you managed to forget your wand is quite beyond me," she added, to the amusement of the class.

"I haven't _forgotten _my wand, Professor, and I think you know that," Ron replied levelly. He had returned to his slouched position, arms folded, staring at the teacher, a look in his eyes that just screamed insolence. His voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the chatter in the classroom like Godric Gryffindor's sword through Nagini's neck.

McGonagall turned to look at him, and the class quieted. "Exactly _what _are you implying, Mister Weasley?" she asked, an affronted tone running through her voice.

He smiled. "I'd like my wand back, please."

There was silence. McGonagall just stared at him, her forehead furrowed. "Weasley, I don't know what you're trying to say but—"

"Come _off _it, Professor!" Ron suddenly burst out. "Last night, in the hospital wing. You took my wand off me. I'd like it back. And _now_ would be good."

"Weasley, I did _not _take your wand!" McGonagall retorted. "I don't know what you are trying to do, but I suggest that you stop it right now!"

"Professor, with all due respect," Hermione interjected slowly, "you _did _take his wand. I was there."

"So was I," Ginny piped up, coming to her brother's defence. "You took it and said he could have it back at the end of the week."

"Quiet, all of you!" McGonagall ordered, anger dancing in her gaze. "What are you playing at, Weasley?"

"Professor," Ron said, sitting up and leaning forward, laying his hands palm-down on the desk, "this is neither the time, nor the place, for an argument." He smiled as she recognised her words from the night before, but the expression didn't reach his eyes. "Don't you agree?"

"Out of my class," McGonagall snapped. "Right now. Out. And twenty points from Gryffindor!"

Ron rose from his seat in silence. He swept his unpacked books back into his bag and left, slamming the door behind him. McGonagall stared at the door for a second, confusion and anger warring on her features, until she resumed her circuit of the classroom, handing out feathers as the class watched her in dead silence.

The moment McGonagall resumed her position at the front of the class and told them to begin, Hermione reached into the depths of her pocket and pulled out the scrap of parchment she had stored there – something that she and Ron had invented over the summer: a way of keeping in touch even when they were miles apart – him helping with the restoration at Hogwarts and her working at the temporary Ministry in London. There were two pieces of the parchment, torn from the same sheet, enchanted so that when one was written on the words same appeared on the other.

There was a message from Ron already: _Why is she lying? _

With a flick of her wand, Hermione turned her feather into a tiny ice-sculpture of a bird in flight, and picked up her quill, scribbling on the parchment.

_I don't think she is. There's something else going on here. _

Ron, leaning with his forehead against the cool stone outside the classroom, frowned as he read her message. He shoved the scrap back into his pocket, knowing it would erase itself within thirty seconds, and leaned back against the wall, screwing his eyes shut.

Then he felt something warm against his thigh.

With a frown, he reached into his pocket, withdrawing the stone he'd slipped in there earlier. He hissed and juggled it between his hands – it was burning hot and glowing crimson.

He stared at it—stared at the stone he'd charmed to react if any spell was used on Harry Potter—and ran for the hospital wing.

---------

N.B.: "_deletrius impervius" _– "_deletrius_" is an existing erasure spell in the HP universe; "_impervius" _(impenetrable) used with it implies an impenetrable deletion – an erasure that cannot be reversed.


	8. A Friend's Sacrifice

Disclaimer etc.: see Prologue.

Thanks to all my wonderful, lovely reviewers: **James Potters Gurl**, **ThruSnape'sEyes**, **UBambassador2006**, **Kaylin**, **twouble**, **sweetiepie1019**, **RaeDawq00**, **scorpiagirl93**, **moonrabbit04**, **Mrs.Hermione J. Weasley**, **jan.sakamoto**, **munchkin1991**, **h03**, **UnangelicHalo**, **derbyrox**, **sofia**, **iluvronweasly123**, **Generic Gen**, **TXGator**, **carlavelos012 **and **I fear my knife is at an end**. I love you all very muchly!

Ah, now, here is the question – to remain DH compliant, or _not _to remain DH compliant… You'll see what I mean by the end. Right now, it could swing either way. Hmm.

One more thing – there are not going to be any more updates for at _least_ two weeks after this one – I'm out of the country, and won't have access to the Internet for that time. I'll be writing but I won't be able to post. Sorry!

R&R is blessed to the overworked Muse, and enjoy!

To Continue

­_7 - A Friend's Sacrifice_

Ron raced through the corridors of Hogwarts, robes flying out behind him as his trainers slapped at the ragged stone flags. Ignoring disapproving glances and murmurs from portraits and castle ghosts alike, he ran on, the stone in his hand glowing like a hot coal. It never crossed his mind that only twenty-four hours ago Harry had hurt him more than he would ever care to admit; right now, all he knew was that his best friend—the best friend of seven years and more adventures than he could remember—was in danger, and that he needed to help him.

His shoes slipped on the stones as he came to a sliding halt outside the hospital wing. He caught himself against the door and wrenched it open, pelting inside as if there was a whole squad of Death Eaters on his heels.

The instant he saw the sickeningly familiar blond boy bent over Harry, he yelled, "Get the _hell _away from him!" Unconsciously his body hunched into an aggressive stance, fury and fear thrumming through the tense lines of his form.

The blond boy straightened and turned to the red-head, wand held loosely in his right hand. He was stood between Ron and Harry, and that was something that Ron did _not_ like. "Get away from him," he bit off.

"I've told you before about keeping your overly-large nose out of things that don't concern you, Weasley," the blond boy answered snidely.

Ron lunged forward and the blond boy's wand snapped up, pointed right at Ron's chest. He came to a halt, hands balled into fists. "What are you doing to Harry?" he demanded, voice tight.

"Nothing that concerns you."

He surged forward. "Like hell."

The blond boy laughed. "You're funny, Weasley," he said. "Very funny."

"Oh yeah?" Ron was furious, anger and fear flooding through him. "Well, how funny's it gonna be when I curse you into next week?"

The blond boy laughed. "And how exactly are you going to do _that_?" he asked, reaching with his free hand into his inside pocket. When his hand came back out again, Ron's wand was grasped between his fingers. "When I've got your wand?"

"You—"

Ron didn't get a chance to complete his sentence. With a swish of his own wand, he was sent crashing back, slamming into the doors. Pain shot through him, and he groaned as he reached up to the back of his head and felt blood. Crimson-tainted fingers hovered before him and blue eyes failed to focus.

The blond boy crouched down beside him. "I told you to stay out of this, Weasley," he whispered, the tip of his wand resting against Ron's jaw. "And if you can't obey a simple command like that, then I think I'll just have to make sure that you're not going to be obeying _any _commands for quite a long time." He smirked. "Not that it really matters. I'm done here."

Another groan slipped free from Ron's lips as the blond boy shifted him down onto the ground, laying him flat on his back. "What…" was all he managed to say. His head was swimming.

The blond boy laughed. "Bye-bye, Ronald," he whispered, and before Ron could chastise him for the use of his full first name, he was in so much pain that coherent speech wasn't even an option.

---------

Hermione kept her head down as McGonagall's voice floated over the classroom, dictating notes. She'd already checked on the components of the professor's wand, and, once more, it wasn't unicorn hair. Ron's plan wasn't turning out so well. The quill between Hermione's fingers scribbled on almost of its own volition – her mind was somewhere else entirely.

She didn't know what it was, and she didn't know why she was feeling it, but her gut was telling her that something, somewhere, was terribly wrong.

As she scratched out her fourth spelling error in a single sentence, a piece of parchment in the shape of tiny bird fluttered down on the desk beside her elbow. She kept writing as she glanced over at it, frowning. Her name was scrawled on the outside in Ginny's handwriting.

McGonagall paused and withdrew her wand, raising the tip in the air as she prepared to demonstrate the point she'd just been explaining about Advanced Transfiguration of Living Objects. Hermione seized the opportunity and grabbed at the tiny bird, flipping the paper open with one fingernail.

Ginny's handwriting was continued on the inside in a short sentence.

_Do you feel it too? _

A shiver ran down her spine. Normally one who wouldn't believe anything unless it was based in hard fact, Hermione's senses were telling her that something was wrong. And, if the note in her hand was anything to go by, Ginny was feeling the same thing.

Hermione dipped her quill in the inkpot on the desk.

_Yes. _

Leaving it at that, uncomfortable with putting more until she could be sure what she was feeling and thinking, she surreptitiously flicked her wand at the paper, which refolded itself and flitted back to Ginny. Curious gazes followed it – Hermione Granger was passing notes, and that was _strange_.

McGonagall paused in her lecture and, with an elegant twitch of her wand, she turned the tiny snake in the hands of one of the Slytherins into a stone effigy of a lion. The boy yelped and dropped it as if it had burned it, staring at the miniature Gryffindor emblem with shock and barely-concealed disdain. "Your first warning, Mister Blaine," she commented sternly. "Pets are not allowed in lessons." She flicked her wand once more and the tiny statue was once more moving and hissing – it slid into Blaine's sleeve, and McGonagall turned away.

Distracted, Hermione didn't notice that Ginny had written back until the bird began to tug at her robes with its paper beak. She plucked it off the desk and opened it, quickly perusing Ginny's hastily-written words.

_It's either Harry or Ron. I can't tell which – it's killing me. Damnit, what the hell is going on?! _

At the two written names—her best friend and her boyfriend—Hermione's stomach twisted. She retrieved her quill.

_It's not Harry. I don't know how I know, but I know. It's not him. Oh God, it's not him._

She couldn't bring herself to write who she knew it was – her suddenly-trembling fingers simply refused. The little bird was sent off again, just as McGonagall began to speak again. Hermione's handwriting was all over the place as she began to write again – she couldn't remember ever being this distracted in lessons.

_Last year changed some things, _she thought.

The doors to the classroom slammed open. Hermione jumped, startled out of her daze, and she spun around, along with everyone else in the class. Madam Pomfrey was stood in the doorway with Filch, and there was worry written on both their faces.

McGonagall hurried down the aisle between the desks to the two of them, and they began to talk in hushed, rapid tones. Hermione strained to hear, cursing picking a seat at the front. She could only pick up on a few words – "Potter", "hospital wing", "locked", "screams" and "Weasley".

Her stomach lurched. _Please, no. Not Ron. _

McGonagall turned back around the face the room. There was worry written in the lines of her forehead. "Class dismissed," she said succinctly, before leaving the room in a swirl of robes, Filch and Pomfrey following in her wake.

Hermione met Ginny's gaze. The youngest Weasley looked as sick as Hermione felt, the little paper bird unfolded in her hand. Inside of thirty seconds, the pair of them had packed their bags and met in the still-open doorway.

"Ron." Ginny's voice was soft and fearful.

"I know," Hermione replied, fighting to keep a tremor out of her own.

And then the two of them were running down the corridor after McGonagall, Pomfrey and Filch, unwittingly taking the exact same path that Ron had tread only half an hour before.

---------

He could hear noise.

Right in the middle of a very pleasant dream (something involving Ginny and Quidditch, he dreamily remembered) he began to hear noise – and not just any noise, either. Someone was screaming; a sound of such pain that he cringed just to hear it. He was tempted to just roll over and return to the peaceful sleep he'd been enjoying, but something nagged at him – a little voice in the back of his head: _something wrong, something wrong, something wrong… _

Until it hit him.

_Ron! _

He sat bolt upright in bed, wincing as the light hit his eyes. His vision was fuzzy, and he groped around the bedside for the familiar shape of his glasses. He found them and rammed them on, grabbing his wand at the same time.

Harry didn't need a detailed explanation as to what the hell was going on – he just reacted. Still in bed, sheets bunched around his waist and pyjama sleeves halfway up his forearms, he pointed his wand straight at Phil Parsons, his arm trembling but yet steady. "Get away from him!"

Phil released Ron, letting the red-headed boy who was at least a head taller than him slide to the ground in a crumpled and bloody heap. Harry felt bile rise in his throat, spurred on by anger and horror. Parsons turned to Potter, two wands in his hands – his own, and his victim's. There was a smile gracing his features – a smile that would have looked innocent on him in any other situation, but now—with him stood over Ron's battered body—it sent shivers down Harry's spine.

"Funny," the blond boy said. "Your friend Weasley said the exact same thing a few minutes ago."

"Phil, what the _hell _are you doing?" Harry bit off, beginning to rise from the bed. He got as far as swinging his legs over the side and resting his feet on the floor before he was hit by a massive wave of vertigo – he froze, keeping his wand on his erstwhile friend.

"I'm doing what I came here to do," Phil hissed.

"Why?" Harry shot back, his fingers curled tightly around the edge of the mattress. "What did Ron ever do to you?"

"Wouldn't you just _love _to know that, Potter." Phil's smile became a smirk and he began to raise his wand.

Reacting instinctively, with reflexes developed over seven years of duels and danger, Harry lashed out with a cry of "_Expelliarmus!_" a split-second before Phil bellowed "_Crucio!_" There was a crash in the centre of the room as the two spells met, and a shockwave rippled outwards, sending Phil smashing into the door and Harry hurtling backwards off his bed.

His ears ringing, Harry clambered to his feet, fighting the nausea that welled up inside him. His wand was clenched tight in his fist, and he scanned the room, searching for his opponent.

His breath caught in his throat when he found him.

Phil was on his feet already, hair messed and falling over his face. An angry fire burnt in his blue eyes, but it wasn't his murderous expression which froze Harry in place. Phil's fingers were intertwined in flaming red hair, dragging Ron Weasley's head up as the injured boy knelt on the cold floor, his body slumped, still half-unconscious. Blood streamed down his cheek from an ugly gash just below his hairline, and the crimson liquid trickled over Phil's wand, pressed against Ron's neck.

The blond-haired boy smiled: a viper's smile. "Wand down, Potter, or Weasley won't be around much longer."

Reluctantly, Harry's wand arm dropped until his wand hung by his side. Fury was scrawled across his face. "It was you from the beginning," he spat. "You made me say those things – you made Ron attack me."

"Not exactly," Phil replied, a smirk hovering around his lips. "_I_ hexed your stupid broomstick. _You _made you say those things, and _you_ made Weasley attack you." He smiled, the expression full of insincerity. "Sorry, Potter. You're crueller than you thought."

"You bast—"

"Language!" Phil smiled wider, digging his wand deeper into Ron's neck – the half-conscious red-head groaned softly, and Harry's stomach clenched. "Now, I'll be off now," Phil continued. "You won't follow me, boy, if you know what's good for you."

"You won't get away with this," Harry shot back.

Phil rolled his eyes. "The eternal cry of the good guy," he remarked. "When are you going to come up with something more original than _that_?"

Harry didn't answer.

"No matter." The blond-haired boy who had caused so much trouble in such a short space of time gave a short laugh. "My task _here _is done, so…" He took his wand away from Ron's throat, holding it looser in his hand. He smiled once more at Harry, before releasing his hold on Ron and stepping back, letting the red-head slide to the floor at his feet. He looked down, and flicked his wand once more – Ron's body jolted up off the stone flags, rings of red sparks winding themselves around his chest and tightening, slowly but inexorably.

Phil laughed and spun on one foot on the spot. He vanished.

Instantly Harry ran to Ron, crashing to his knees beside him. Ron's breath was coming in short gasps – he was wheezing heavier and heavier as the sparks pulled closer and closer to his skin. Blue eyes stared in hazy fright into Harry's face – he was being pulled back to consciousness just to be deprived of the ability to breathe.

"…Ha…rry…" Ron managed to choke out, breathless and terrified.

Harry, who'd for an instant forgotten about the wand in his hand, brought it up over Ron's battered form. "_Finite_," he muttered hastily, expecting the sparks to vanish.

Nothing happened.

The sparks brushed against Ron's shirt. The white material began to burn, and Ron's eyes rolled back in his head, the tiniest of whimpers escaping his lips. Harry cursed as fear began to make itself known in his heart. A hastily spoken spell and a jet of water spurted from the end of his wand, putting out the flames that had been beginning to dance along the front of Ron's shirt. Again he bit out, "_Finite Incantatem!"_, but once more nothing happened. Fear and grief wound their barbed grips around him. "Ron…" he tried.

Ron was becoming more and more lucid in direct proportion to the amount of pain he was in, and tears were beading in his blue eyes as he opened them to look up at Harry. "…forgive you…" he husked.

_No! _

Harry gripped his wand helplessly, unable to do anything to help his ailing friend. "I won't lose you too," he managed. "I can't."

The barest hint of Ron's lopsided grin appeared on his beaten features. "…not all…'bout you…mate…"

And then the dancing red sparks, glowing with the light of a thousand flickering campfires from down the ages, sank into Ron's skin, disappearing into his chest. He arched up off the cold stone flags, his hands balled into fists. He couldn't breathe, and so had no breath to cry out as pain rocketed through him.

"_Ron!_" Harry cried, his wand discarded as he held his friend as he bucked in his arms. "Ron, hold on!"

Ron's blue eyes flew open. Tendons stood out on his arched neck, running down below the collar of his shirt. A keening whine drifted out of his air-deprived lungs, as his lips soundlessly moved, mouthing a word, just one word. Just a single name.

_Hermione…_

And then Ron Weasley collapsed down to the cold floor, his body slack, his blue eyes half-open, sightlessly gazing up into the horror-struck face of Harry Potter.

---------


	9. Twin Meetings

Disclaimer etc.: see Prologue.

Aaah. You guys are scary when you're angry. -hides behind computer chair- Again, I am muchly sorry for the two week delay (-feels guilty-) but here it is! Chapter Eight!

Thanks to my lovely (albeit terrifying) reviewers: **scorpiagirl93**, **silent seabreeze**, **Mrs.Hermione J. Weasley**, **Kimmilein**, **ronniemione**, **cmanuk**, **jan.sakamoto**, **Sirius Blacks Gurl**, **twouble**, **Sir Raphael**, **Hermione781**, **Wish I Was Mrs. Danes 117**, **Epic LoVe**, **Ebony Curtains**, **dandin**, **Dreamer758**, **Emerald-Torch**, **Eruvyweth**, **mudhousejunkie224**, **snowyowl7**, **Voldemorts grl**, **Mystik225**, **iamsheena**, **domslove**, **Kokoro Onee chan**,** callernumber16onz100**, **Evelyn Granger**, **LOSTinharrypotter**, **josephina**, **ThruSnape'sEyes**, **RaeDawq00**, **sweetiepie1019**, **Woollongong Shimmy**, **xfalloutgirlx**, **Starburstgoddess27**, **TXGator**, **LostPotterFreak**, **Cha-chan-hyper**, **EnglishGrlVerity**, **Melanie**, **RonWeasleyismiking**, **Luthien-Anwamam**, **random**, **ShatteredTruth**, **Mimi**, **Generic Gen**, **Ginny Guerra**, **crashing-xx**, **Miss Mudblood**, **Lady Adriane of Katherine**, **analternatereview**, **Dwindlingcandle**, **MCGEEandME**, **reddishdweeb**, **vampireshavemorefun**, **Jasper J Heart**, **Never Is An Awfully Long Time**, **Ceitidh**, **aweirdoperson**, **Kates Master**, **Talaayn**, **Moon Comix **and **Autumn Skys**!! Never have I got that many reviews for a chapter, and I love you all for it.

Jeez, I hope I don't disappoint now...

R&R is blessed to the Muse, and enjoy!

To Continue

_8 - Twin Meetings_

Ron opened his eyes.

He yawned—a jaw-cracking yawn—and stretched, arching his lanky body up off the comfortable sofa as he felt his muscles come to life. His eyelids fluttering half-shut, he relaxed back into the cushions at his back, letting the warmth from the fire bathe him in quiet.

How long he lay there, drifting between waking and sleeping, he didn't know – and, to be honest, he didn't really care. This was peaceful, and he would be quite happy to just stay here, amidst the red-and-gold hangings, in this quiet state of contemplation forever.

"Oy. Wake up."

Ron groaned as he felt a hand shaking his shoulder, rousing him from rest. He batted ineffectually at the fingers that were dragging him back to consciousness, but that only earned him a chuckle from whoever it was that was doing the dragging. "Go 'way," he grumbled, rolling over and presenting his back to his tormentor.

The next moment he was on said back on the floor, blinking hazily up at a familiar smug face. "What was that for?" he demanded sleepily, rubbing clarity back into his eyes.

The face raised an eyebrow. "Am I not _allowed _to torment my little brother?" The face sniffed lazily. "I mean, just 'cause I'm dead doesn't mean I'm going to let you live your life unhindered."

_Huh? _was all Ron's brain came up with in response. He pulled himself up into a sitting position, not taking his eyes off his impossible companion. His mouth opened and closed several times – his throat was constricted so much it was almost painful. "Fred?" he finally managed.

Fred grinned and flopped down into an armchair, propping his trainered feet up against the edge of the fireplace. "Well done, Ronnie," he congratulated.

"But—"

"I'm dead?"

Ron shrugged, still sat on the floor. "Well, yeah."

Fred rolled his eyes. "Don't be so _literal_," he chastised.

Ron climbed up onto the sofa he'd been tipped off only a few minutes ago. He frowned. "But then… If I'm talking to you, does that mean I'm dead too?"

Fred pulled a face. "Well, you _should _be dead," he answered.

"Well, thanks."

"You should be!" Fred leant forward, resting his elbows on his knees and studying his younger brother. "That spell should have killed you – that's what it was _designed _to do."

"It was designed to kill?"

Fred sighed and rolled his eyes again – he then promptly leaned across and smacked Ron on the back of his head. "Here I am, trying to impart my wisdom from beyond the grave, and _you're not listening!_ Ron, that was a spell designed and created to kill _you._"

"Me? Why?" Ron shook his head, confused. "People don't want to kill me – people want to kill Harry." He shrugged. "I'm just, well, me."

Fred held up his hands, expression half-offended, warding off his brother's protests. "Look, don't yell at the messenger," he defended. "I didn't figure it out. I'm just the one sent to tell you."

Ron eyed him suspiciously. "Then who _did _figure it out?"

"Dumbledore, I think," Fred replied dismissively. "He's good at that sort of stuff."

"_Dumbledore_?" Ron squeaked. "Who else is there?"

Fred shrugged. "Loads of people. It's a regular party." He grinned. "The Marauders're a laugh."

Ron blinked, and then screwed his eyes shut. "I'm dreaming," he muttered to himself. "I'm asleep in Gryffindor Tower, Harry in the bed across from me, and I'm just having a really weird dream."

"You're not dreaming, Ron," Fred countered gently. "You're unconscious in the hospital wing, clinging onto life by a thread – you subconscious brought you here; somewhere you feel safe." He glanced around at scarlet drapes. "Although _why_ you picked the Gryffindor common room is beyond me."

"So _you're _part of my subconscious?" Ron ventured sceptically.

Fred snorted. "You wish," he retorted. "No way could you think up someone as wonderful as me." He preened.

"Okay, you're real," Ron muttered.

Fred smirked. "Good to know."

"But then why are you here?" Ron asked, hopelessly confused. "And _how? _Are you inside my head or something?"

"The penny drops!" Fred exclaimed, sitting back in triumph. "Always the genius, our little Ronniekins."

"Shut up," Ron retorted automatically.

Fred smiled slightly, folding his arms over the large "F" on his jumper. "I'm here to send you back," he answered calmly. "Left to yourself, you'd just have slept."

Ron frowned. "Send me back where?"

"Where d'you _think_?!"

"Oh." Ron thought for a moment, his forehead furrowed. "And how do I do that, then?"

"You go out," Fred replied. His gaze moved from his brother to a point over his shoulder, and Ron swivelled around – the portrait hole was the focus of Fred's attention.

"I just walk out?" Ron asked, a note of disbelief in his voice.

"You just walk out," Fred confirmed.

Ron was silent for a moment, and then looked over at his brother. "Come with me."

Fred blinked. "What?"

"If it's that easy, then come with me," he begged.

The other Weasley smiled at him. "I can't do that," he responded. "You can't just suddenly not be dead – it doesn't work like that."

"But you said _I _could go back—"

"That's because you're _not _dead," Fred interrupted. "Not yet, anyway. The door works for you because you have body to go back to – a body that's still alive."

"But—"

"Ron, don't you think I would've if I could?!" Fred was abruptly on his feet again, his shoulders hunched over as he stared into the flames that danced in the fireplace. "Believe me, little brother, I've tried," he continued quietly. "But I'm dead, and that's something no one can change."

"But we need you," Ron said brokenly into the quiet.

"I know." Fred continued to stare in the flames, patterns of light and dark flickering over his features. "But Death has to meet her quota."

" 'Her'?"

The corner of Fred's mouth turned upwards. "Nice girl," he commented, half to himself. "Very nice girl. But inflexible when it comes to her job."

"But what if you went in my place?" Ron blurted out, clutching at straws. "You can have my body, and I'll stay here—"

He was cut off as Fred whirled around and seized his shoulders, his fingers digging into Ron's flesh. Sudden anger was written on his face in lines of fire, but tears glimmered in his eyes. "What will it take for you to get it through your thick skull that _I can't go back?!_" he almost-yelled. "Why can't you just save yourself and _leave _me here?!"

Ron stared up at his dead brother, rebellious tears pricking at his own eyes despite the knowledge that none of this was really real. "Because you're my brother," he said into the quiet, his voice threatening to break.

And then they were hugging, arms around each other as they both knelt on the floor, and there were tears from both of them, even though neither could remember beginning to cry.

---------

"How is he?"

Looking up, Hermione accepted the offered mug and cradled it between her hands. She forced a smile, but her eyes betrayed the weariness she felt. "There's no change," she answered, raising the mug to her nose and inhaling the warm scent of hot chocolate. "He's just… _lying _there." She sniffed hard, and not in an effort to smell the rich aroma from the cup in her hands.

The chair on the other side of the bed creaked as George Weasley lowered his weight onto its spindly frame. He sighed. "How long've you been here?" he asked softly.

Hermione shrugged. "Since we broke the door down," she replied in an almost-whisper.

—_the doors crash open and she's the first one in; the first one to witness Harry Potter on his knees with Ron Weasley's broken body in his arms and tears streaming down his cheeks—_

"And how're you holding up?"

Hermione glanced up at George. "I'm okay."

He regarded her sceptically. "Hermione…"

"Don't," she snapped suddenly. "Just…don't." She met his questioning gaze. "I can't take it right now."

A soft smile flickered across the red-head's lips. "You really love him, don't you?"

Hermione didn't meet his gaze.

George sighed. "Where are Harry and Ginny?" he asked in a blatant attempt to change the subject. "I would've thought that nothing less than our good friend Voldie coming back _again _would have dragged them away."

Hermione shifted slightly in her seat, taking a sip of the warm drink in her grasp before she spoke. "Madam Pomfrey made them leave," she replied.

"And why didn't she make _you _leave?" George asked, curious.

"Because… Because I threatened to curse her if she said another word," Hermione answered, the ghost of a smile flitting across her lips. "And then McGonagall spoke to her and…" She shrugged, tiredness showing in the lines on her forehead. "Here I am."

"You did _what?_" He sat back in his seat, incredulity scribbled across his face. "Hermione Granger, you've been hanging around Ron too long!"

_Ron. _

Hermione made a sort of soft choking noise in the back of her throat, and they both looked down at the red-headed boy lain on the bed between them. The mug of hot chocolate George had given Hermione before clattered to the ground, spilling brown liquid across the flagstones as she leant forward, talking Ron's limp hand between her own suddenly-nerveless fingers. "What if he never wakes up?" she whispered. "What if he just stays like this forever?"

George rose from his seat with another creak and stepped around the bed to Hermione's side. He pulled his wand from the pocket of his jacket and cleared up the mess on the floor, settling the now-cracked mug on the bedside table. He crouched beside Hermione, one hand resting lightly on her knee. "Don't think like that," he said softly. "He _will _wake up."

"How d'you know?"

"Because Ron is far too much of a stubborn bastard to die," George answered, and he was rewarded with the faintest smile. "He'll be okay."

Hermione brushed at her eyes, wiping away the little tears that had just begun to form. She forced a wider smile, glancing down at George. "How did you get here so fast, anyway?"

George moved back around the bed, keeping a watchful eye on Hermione. He shrugged, retaking his seat. "I was in Hogsmeade with Lee," he answered. "We were setting up shop." He tapped the embroidered crest on his jacket – the Ws. "I got McGonagall's message and…" He shrugged, face solemn. "I ran."

"What about your parents?" Hermione asked.

"They're on their way," George answered, He leant forward, elbows pressed to thighs. His gaze took in his unconscious brother, wounds healed and blood cleaned away, and he shook his head slowly. "I'm worried about Mum," he admitted. "She was devastated when Fred—" He swallowed, and looked down. Some wounds were still fresh. "After Fred," he completed in a whisper. "When she sees Ron like this…"

Hermione closed her eyes, just for a moment. Her fingers tightened around Ron's, and she leaned forward, brushing flaming hair away from his eyes. She rested her lips beside his ear, and whispered, "_Please, _Ron. Wake up." A tear slipped free from her eye, tracing a glittering path down her cheek.

George looked away, his hands fisting in the worn material of his jeans.

Hermione pressed her lips to Ron's freckled cheek. "I need you," she whispered to him, hoping that wherever his mind was he could hear her, and return to her.

---------

"Why aren't I dead?"

"What, you _want _to die?"

The two brothers were sat side-by-side on the sofa, watching the fire play in the grate. Fred glanced over at Ron and saw the serious expression on the younger's face. "It's…complicated."

"Well, then explain it."

"It's the spell," Fred answered, leaning back into the cushions at his back.

"What spell?"

"That _'praeteritum' _thing – the one you overheard from that blond kid."

"The Temporal Reveal Charm?" Ron asked.

Fred nodded. "That's the one."

Ron frowned. "What about it?"

"There's a reason no one uses that spell," Fred answered, a frown creasing his forehead. "And not just because it's rarely written down, requires a certain type of wand and was created by a guy who was a bit on the weird side."

"A bit on the weird side?" Ron echoed, blue eyes intent on his brother.

Fred nodded. "Very strange bloke. Quacks. But anyway – the spell." He chewed his lip for a moment before speaking again, choosing his words carefully as he did so. "No one's quite sure why—or how!—but whenever a person uses that spell they lose a part of their soul."

Ron visibly paled. "What?" he choked out.

Fred rushed to reassure him. "It's only for the duration of the spell!"

Ron was struggling to get his mind around this. "So… I've split my soul in two?"

"No, Ronnie, because that's called 'doing a Voldie' and would be _bad._" Fred smirked at the annoyed look Ron shot him, and continued. "It's more a separation than an actual split, and I'm guessing that your particular separation isn't going to last much longer. Which isn't good."

"Why not?"

"Because if you're still here when the spell wears off, you die."

"_What?" _Ron exploded. "Why?"

"Because that little missing piece of your soul is all that's keeping you from meeting the nice lady with the scythe," Fred answered, his words jovial but expression deadly serious. "A soul can't leave the world in bits and pieces."

"You-Know-Who's did," Ron pointed out helpfully.

"Horcruxes: special case," Fred replied dismissively. "Just trust me on this one – you can't die until your soul is back in one piece. Which won't be long." He shook his head. "If you're still here, it's bye-bye, Ronald."

"But what if—" Ron began, but Fred rounded on him instantly.

"Don't you dare even _think _about not going back," he hissed. "You _have _to go back."

"But why?" Ron shot back angrily. "I'm no hero – I'm just the sidekick! Harry's the one that the world revolves around – none one needs Ronald Weasley!"

_I need you. _

Ron jumped. Hermione's voice, full of pain and tears, echoed in his mind. Confused, he turned to his brother, searching for an explanation. A tiny smile flitted across Fred's lips. "You see?" he said quietly. "Even if the world doesn't need you—something I sincerely doubt, by the way—the girl who is madly, head-over-heels in love with you does."

Ron turned, a conflicted expression on his face. "I have to go back," he murmured, his gaze fixed on the portrait hole.

"You have to go back."

But again Ron turned back to his brother. "But I can't just _leave _you here," he almost-whispered.

"Course you can," Fred answered. "I'm dead, little brother, and no amount of pleading is going to change that. There's nothing you can do about it."

There were tears shining in Ron's blue eyes as he spoke. "Then what was the point of all this?" he asked frustratedly, gesturing to the illusion of the Gryffindor common room around them.

"The point of this?" Fred asked, an empty smile on his lips. "To give you a chance to say goodbye, I guess."

"What if I don't want to say goodbye?"

"Then you keep going as you have been," Fred replied. "You show a brave face to everyone, even your best friends, but you're falling apart inside."

A slight smile crept onto Ron's lips. "When did you get all meaningful?"

"When I realised that death isn't the end." He looked over at his brother, smiling. "And it isn't. Not by a long shot." Fred leaned back on the sofa, pressing his body into the cushions, returning his attention to the fireplace. "Now go."

Slowly, as if his limbs wouldn't obey him, Ron stood. There were tears running down his cheeks as he walked to the portrait hole. He was only two steps away from leaving and living again when Fred spoke.

"And Ron?"

He stopped and turned back, looking over at Fred. "Yeah?" he said, a hopeful tone in his voice.

Fred didn't look up at him – he remained still, his elbows resting on his thighs, staring into the fire. "When you next see that twin of mine," he said, so softly. "Tell him that—" His voice abruptly broke, and he closed his eyes. A single tear ran down his cheek and dripped off his chin, landing on his clasped hands. He let out a long, shaky breath, his eyes still squeezed shut.

"Tell him that I miss him too," he finally whispered, his voice shaking.

Tears flowing freely down his cheeks, Ron stepped out of the portrait hole and into darkness, his brother's message ringing in his ears.

The common room dissolved behind him.

---------


	10. Upon Waking

Disclaimer etc.: see Prologue.

Right, from now on updates are probably going to be about a week apart. I'm back at school, and I've hit Year 11. -is scared- GCSEs!

Thanks to all my lovely, amazing reviewers: **Voldemorts grl**, **Ginny Guerra**, **Conqueror of The Spider George**, **domslove**, **the-missing-arm-of-krum**, **ShatteredTruth**,** ThruSnape'sEyes**, **ronniemione**, **cmanuk**, **Dreamer758**, **Talaayn**, **LostPotterFreak**, **doks.brucas.happy**, **MBP**, **mudhousejunkie224**, **josephina**, **TXGator**, **analternatereview**, **Kimmilein**, **Silver Queen**, **Woollongong Shimmy**, **maddie**, **connieewing**, **scorpiagirl93**, **Kokoro Onee chan**, **silent seabreeze**, **Ceitidh**, **callernumber16onz100**, **Gene Kelly**, **reddishdweeb**, **Gerbil-san**, **Autumn Skys**, **Dwindlingcandle**, **neville 2.0**, **Mrs.Hermione J. Weasley**, **RaeDawq00**, **LOSTinharrypotter**, **RonWeasleyismiking**, **iamsheena**, **Stargazer777**, **twouble**, **keske**, **crashing-xx**, **Never Is An Awfully Long Time**, **Lady Adriane of Katherine **and **ginnyharryxoxo14**. I love you all! Plus, I'm sorry to those of you who said that I made them cry with the last chapter. -tear- I made myself cry...

Anyway. R&R is blessed to the Muse, and enjoy!

To Continue

_9 - Upon Waking_

The only thing that he could hear was the soft whistle of the wind. He just lay still for a moment, listening, feeling calm ripple through him. Wherever he was, there was an air of calm simplicity in the simple sound of the wind against the windows.

As he lay there he scraped his tongue around the roof of his mouth, wincing at the dryness. _Water. _The thought came unbidden to his mind, and he immediately latched onto it.

_If I open my eyes, do I get water? _

He weighed up his options. Opening his eyes would mean getting water, but it would also mean leaving the nice and quiet place he was currently in. And it was _very _nice here… After a moment's further consideration he settled back into the peaceful semi-trance he'd previously been in.

_To hell with water, _was the thought meandering through his mind.

Once more he lay in the quiet, drifting between sleeping and waking.

_Come on Weasley. _Another voice intruded onto his consciousness, a jibing voice that began to prod him into alertness. _You just gonna lie there all day? _

_Why not? _he thought back sleepily. _It's nice here. _

_And what about everyone else, huh? _the voice poked. _What about your friends? _

He frowned. _What about them?_

_Can't you see that just lying there like a little selfish bastard is hurting them? _A pause. _Hurting _her?

_I… _He didn't know what to say – it wasn't every day he was rendered speechless by his own brain. Images ran riot through his mind – faces, voices, names. Harry. Ginny. Hermione.

_Hermione._

_Ah, so you _do _remember her. _

A soft smile. _How could I forget?_

There was no forgiveness in the voice; no leniency. _The same way you made her cry. _

_What? _He stirred, confused. _I… What?_

_Listen, _was the voice's only reply.

So he did. Again it was just the wind at first, whistling and whipping outside the window, but as his silence deepened another sound intruded on the extended solo of the plaintive song of the breeze.

_Crying?_

_Well done, genius. She needs you, and she's not exactly happy about your current reluctance to wake up. _

… _my fault?_

He heard an exasperated sigh in his mind. _Not the brightest little wizard in Hogwarts, are we?_

_Give me a break, _he grumbled. _It's been a hard few days. _

_Fair enough, _the voice acquiesced. _After all, you _should _be slightly dead._

He jumped. _I should be _what?!

He could feel incredulity. It wasn't his, but he felt it all the same. _Don't tell me you're forgotten everything Fred said to you as well?!_

And then Ronald Weasley was spinning awake, throwing himself onto his side as his stomach violently heaved, emptying itself across the white sheets his lanky frame was sprawled over. There were cries of alarm and joy from beside him and he felt hands on his shoulders, trying to roll him onto his back – he gripped the edge of the mattress rebelliously and shook his head as another spasm wracked his protesting gut.

It seemed like an age before his insides righted themselves, and when they did he collapsed onto his back, eyes half-shut but very much awake.

He felt a tentative hand grasp his own. "Ron?" Hermione's voice asked softly. Her thumb traced circles on the back of his hand, and a familiar warmth spread through him.

He forced his eyes open and, fighting a grimace at the foul taste in his mouth, looked up into wide brown eyes framed by bushy hair. His lips moved for a second, mouthing silent words. Finally he managed to croak out, "What'd I miss?"

Hermione's face, tear-stained and tired, broke into a radiant smile. "Nothing much," she replied, her fingers squeezing his so tight he thought they might fall off.

Careful not to upset the annoyingly-delicate balance of his stomach, he pulled himself up on the pillows. Images were running through his mind – images and memories of a conversation that logic and reason told him he couldn't have had but that he remembered in vivid, startling clarity. He rubbed at his eyes.

There was a disgusted noise from beside him. Ron looked over from between his fingers, to be greeted by the sight of George. "You threw up on my jeans," he groused, one eyebrow raised. He wasn't serious – the faintest grin adorned his lips. "If I'd know you were gonna do that when you woke up I'd've wanted you to stay sleeping."

"George!" Hermione exclaimed, her fingers tight around Ron's.

"What?" he shrugged, a roguish grin twitching his lips.

Ron felt his throat contract as the other two laughed.

_Tell him that I miss him too. _

_---------_

Dawn crept through the windows, bathing the hospital wing in glowing light. Ron was alone – when Madam Pomfrey had seen that he'd woken she sent Hermione and George out, saying that they didn't need to be with Ron now he was awake, and that her patient needed his rest. She'd then given them the evillest look Ron had ever seen this side of a Death Eater.

So they'd left – George with a brotherly ruffle of his hair and Hermione with a kiss to his lips and an instruction not to get himself killed again.

He hadn't got a chance to speak to either of them about what happened inside his head while they were guarding his body.

Perhaps understandably, he hadn't been able to sleep for the remainder of the night. He'd sat still, frozen, as Pomfrey bustled around him and his mind whirled. Logically, he knew that he should be thankful – according to an unusually-verbose Madam Pomfrey, she'd thought he was going to die. And coming from her, that was damn near a death sentence. But he couldn't bring himself to be thankful, to be relieved, to be happy.

_I'm dead, little brother, and no amount of pleading is going to change that. _

His stomach flipped. _Did it happen? _he asked himself. _Or was it just some crazy hallucination?_

Common sense insisted that it never happened, that he was just imagining things; his heart, thudding in his chest, told him the complete opposite. He closed his eyes, fighting the tears, and he didn't even know why he had to do that either. He was confused, plain and simple.

"Hey Ron."

Ron opened his eyes, mildly startled. He looked around and frowned when all he saw was Madam Pomfrey disappearing into her curtained office. He tentatively ventured a soft "Hello?"

There was a swish of fabric, and a familiar green-eyed boy appeared next to Ron's bed. The red-head relaxed back against the pillows his body was propped up against. "Harry."

"Hermione said you'd woken up," Potter said softly, glancing over in the direction of Pomfrey's office. "She and Ginny went up to bed, but I came down here." There was a tangle of badly-suppressed emotions in his gaze. "I needed to see you for myself."

Ron managed a small smile. "Fussing?"

Harry looked down at his hands, fiddling with the edge of the Invisibility Cloak that lay in a messy heap in his lap. "More than you know," he admitted.

"Harry, I'm fine," Ron assured him. "Really."

Harry looked up against. "Ron, you nearly _died,_" he whispered. "And I tried to save you, but nothing would work. _Nothing._" He let out a terse breath, and then met Ron's blue eyes. "I'm so sorry."

But Ron was shaking his head. "There was nothing you could have done, Harry," he said. "Nothing _anyone _could have done. That spell was dark magic, and it should have killed me stone dead."

His voice as he said this was so calm it sent a shiver down Harry's spine. "How d'you know that?" he asked.

A shadow flitted across Ron's features and he shook his head. "Not the point," he dodged. "The point's that despite being the great and powerful Harry Potter, you couldn't've done a thing."

"Doesn't stop me from thinking it was my fault."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Number one – it wasn't," he began to list. "Number two – the world doesn't revolve around you. And Number three…" Ron smirked. "You'd probably think it was your fault if I got smacked in the head with a Bludger. Doesn't mean it's true."

Harry smiled, unable to help himself.

"Exactly," Ron finished victoriously.

Potter's features darkened again. "But there's something that _is _my fault that I need to apologise for," he said softly.

Blue eyes met green just for a moment, and then again Ron shook his head in denial. "You don't need to apologise," he countered. He lightly stroked an imaginary beard. "Although grovelling at my feet for the next month would be good…"

But Harry didn't smile. "How can you joke around?" he hissed, leaning closer. "What I said to you—"

"Was not your fault," Ron interrupted. "Cursed broomstick, anyone?"

"But Phil said—"

"Phil was a two-faced bastard who nearly killed me," Ron said firmly. "I'm your best friend of seven years. Who you gonna believe?"

"Ron…"

"Harry."

Harry threw up his hands in defeat. "Fine!" he exclaimed.

"Good." Ron smirked. "Anything else you feel like apologising for?"

"Erm, not trusting you enough to see that you were right, putting you in so much danger over the years, not forcing you to get together with Hermione years ago…"

"The usual then?"

"Yeah."

The pair shared a laugh in the quiet of the hospital wing.

Alerted to the sound of _two _voices when there should only be one (or preferably none at all), Madam Pomfrey glanced out of her office. She saw only Mr Weasley, sat up in bed, a smile adorning his freckled features. For a moment, she thought she saw the air beside her lone patient swirl and move, but when she blinked, the "movement" was gone.

She shook herself and slipped back into her office.

Ron turned to Harry's now-empty seat, trying not to grin. "Quick thinking," he congratulated.

"Well, yeah," Harry's voice said softly. "I'm Harry Potter – what did you expect?"

Ron laughed again. "Cocky bastard."

Once more, Harry emerged from beneath the Cloak. "Got it in one." The black-haired boy studied Ron's face for a moment and then leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs. "What is it?" he asked softly.

Ron frowned. "What's what?" he asked.

"Something's bothering you," Harry clarified. "What is it?"

Ron looked away. "Doesn't matter," he mumbled.

"Ron." Harry's tone left no room for argument.

He sighed, rubbing at his eyes. "You'll think I'm nuts," he mumbled.

"I already _know _you're nuts. So spill."

Ron didn't smile. He lowered his hands from his eyes and sighed, winding his fingers into the edge of the blanket that covered his legs. "I…" He swallowed, before continuing in a whisper. "_I saw Fred._"

Harry's eyes went wide. Whatever he'd been expecting, that wasn't it. "As in… your brother?"

"How many Freds do I know?" Ron asked. There was no venom in his tone, just an abrupt tiredness. He was exhausted, but he couldn't sleep. He shook his head. "It's impossible, I know. But I was in the common room and he was there with me and—" He stopped suddenly, looking down. "It felt so real," he completed in a whisper.

"I—" Harry began.

"And I wasn't hallucinating!" Ron interrupted sharply. "I just…" He faltered slightly. "I know it was real," he finished softly.

"I believe you," Harry said simply.

Ron looked up, startled. "You do?"

Harry nodded. He let out a soft sigh and fiddled with the edge of the Cloak. "You're not the first to see such a thing," he said by way of explanation.

Ron's fingers reflexively gripped the edge of the blanket. "Harry?" he asked.

The green-eyed boy leaned back in his chair, weariness flitting across his face. "It was…" He paused. "It was during the battle," he said finally. "Voldemort killed me—well, as near as he could get—and I spoke with Dumbledore in Kings Cross." He smiled gently, a smile full of memory.

"You never said."

"You never asked."

Ron chewed his lip for a moment. "But then that means that it was real!" he said happily. "It wasn't just in my head!"

Harry smiled widely, white teeth glinting in the dimness. "As a wise man once told me, Ron, of _course_ it was in your head. But that doesn't mean it wasn't real." He chuckled to himself, and Ron gave him a decidedly funny look. Harry straightened his face. "What did he say?" he asked, sombre once more.

Ron shrugged, the movement subdued. "Lots of things," he replied. "Why I wasn't dead, for one. Why I was there. All about that bloody spell—"

"What bloody spell?" Harry interrupted.

Ron waved a dismissive hand at him. "The _Praeteritum _one."

"_Praeteritum…_?"

Ron gave him a look that screamed exasperation. "The Temporal Reveal Charm!

"Right…" Harry replied slowly, but Ron had frozen.

"Temporal Reveal Charm," he whispered.

"Ron?"

"My wand," Ron demanded abruptly. "Where is it?"

Confused, Harry faltered. "Ron, what's—"

Ron shushed him, frantically running his hand over the bedside table, muttering to himself. "_Can't be long 'til seven… Hermione and Ginny'll've been too messed up to nick my wand and perform the damn spell… Hang on – what about the soul-loss bit? Oh, who cares! We need to figure this out… Where's my damn wand?!" _

"Here," Harry answered. He'd drawn Ron's wand from his pocket where it'd been nestled beside his own. He held it out and Ron snatched it from eagerly.

The red-head paused for a moment. He glanced up at the ceiling. "Please let this work," he muttered.

"Let _what _work?" Harry asked.

Ron ignored the bemused Potter. Raising his wand and screwing his face up in concentration, he muttered the spell that had caused such a fuss. "_Praeteritum tempus spectare._"

Harry watched, mildly open-mouthed, as the air just over Ron's knees fuzzed and thickened. The Boy-Who-Lived was, for once, totally out of the loop, and he was discovering he didn't like it all that much. "_What _is _that_?" he demanded.

Ron shushed him once again, beckoning him over at the same time. Bemused, Harry complied. He barely suppressed a startled gasp as he saw the image appearing in the air. He spluttered as Ron heaved a sigh of relief. "Not too late," he muttered to himself.

"That's me!" Harry exclaimed.

"Well done, genius," Ron congratulated absently. "Now _ssshh!_"

In the air, the black-haired woman was kneeling beside Harry, her fingertips pressed to the pounding of the unconscious Image-Harry's pulse. The view of the image swooped down, following her as she lowered her head to hover above Harry's throat.

The two boys watched, transfixed, as a smile slid across the pale woman's lips. She raised her finger from Harry's pulse and slipped it beneath her upper lip, running the crimson nailed digit over her top row of teeth. First one pointed canine then another was displayed: teeth far more pointed than they should be.

"Is that…?" Ron asked faintly.

"That is…" Harry answered, just as faintly.

"Bloody hell…" Ron sniffed. "Well, that explains the bite marks."

"Bite marks?"

"On your neck," Ron clarified.

Harry frowned at him. "I don't have any bite marks on my neck."

"Yes you do."

"No I don't!"

"Yes you do!"

"No I don't!"

Ron looked over at Harry, ready to point out the white marks on his neck, but faltered as he came up against unblemished skin. "Huh." He frowned, but any further questioned were cut short as Harry's eyes widened and he pointed at the misty image in the air.

The view had changed again, offering a wider image of the classroom – candles burnt on every surface. But it was what lay on the desk in the image that drew their attention. "That's my Firebolt!" Harry exclaimed.

"And _what _is that above it?" Ron demanded, leaning forward.

It was mist – black, choking mist, hovering in the air like an aura around the broomstick. The pale woman was gazing at this strange occurrence, satisfaction written in her pale eyes. The fog flowed down off the desk, swirling into the vague shape of a man. It thickened.

"Look!" Ron exclaimed, jabbing his finger at the image. "You're waking up."

True to the red-head's words, Image-Harry was stirring blearily on the ground. He raised one hand to his head wearily, the familiarly distinctive scar peeking out from between his fingers. The pale woman didn't look at him – her attention was reserved solely for the figure of a man that had just coalesced into being.

A gasp tore itself free from Harry. "Moody?" he asked in a whisper.

Ron was shaking his head. "That's not possible."

In the air before them, the woman rose to her feet. She spoke, but the two boys heard nothing. A sneer curled across Moody's features, and he said something back.

And then, without warning, he snapped one finger up straight at the half-conscious Image-Harry, shooting a bolt of black lightning through the air and into the centre of his scarred forehead.

Image-Harry collapsed once more. The pale woman looked back at him, what might be actual concern on her features. Again, she turned to Moody. _Who are you? _was the question her lips framed, slowly, clearly.

All Moody did was smile, and raise his palm.

The pale woman was blasted back against the stone wall, sliding into a heap on the floor in the candlelight. She raised her crimson-nailed hand to the back of her head – her fingers came away red. As the two watching boys sat in stunned silence, the woman's hand dropped to her lap and her eyes rolled back in her head.

The image faded away, and the air cleared.

_---------_


	11. Necessary Lies

Disclaimer etc.: see Prologue.

Sorta an experimental chapter here – it was the only way that _To Continue _would let me write it. Lots of flashbacks. Lots of italics. It's in a very un-JK style, but it very SBC! And if it's confusing or anything, feel free to ask what the hell is going on!

Oh, I'm an evil, evil girl… I am cruel to our boy, aren't I?

Anyway. Thanks to my amazing reviewers: **twouble**, **silent seabreeze**, **cmanuk**, **Hermione781**, **Ginny Guerra**, **Gene Kelly**, **josephina**,** ShatteredTruth**, **scorpiagirl93**, **connieewing**, **sweetiepie1019**, **doks.brucas.happy**, **Lady Adriane of Katherine**, **TheMarshmalowWizardGhostCookie**, **aweirdoperson**, **amazed**, **LOSTinharrypotter**, **ThruSnape'sEyes**, **Mrs.Hermione J. Weasley**, **Autumn Skys**, **RonWeasleyismiking**, **Dwindlingcandle**, **analternatereview**, **Kimmilein**, **keske**, **Dreamer758**, **Woollongong Shimmy**, **dnd4ever**, **Miss Mudblood**, **UBambassador2006**, **crashing-xx**, **RaeDawq00**, **kyo'slittlesister**, **xfalloutgirlx**, **iamsheena**, **Mimi**, **Evelyn Granger**, **callernumber16onz100**, **rileyonline **and **domslove**! I love you all!

Oh, and a quick note to **Mimi **'cause I couldn't reply to you through the site (that is, if you're still reading): thanks for everything you said, but the comment about my age kinda annoyed me slightly. I'm one to believe that anyone can be brilliant at writing, and age has nothing to do with it - so I don't like my reviewers excusing mistakes I've made or bits they don't like by my age!

R&R is blessed to the Muse, and enjoy!

To Continue

_10 - Necessary Lies_

The air was cool on his face as he stumbled out of the suddenly claustrophobia-inducing hallways. He swayed slightly in the welcome bite of the breeze. He was numb, his mind unable to grasp the drastically shifted axis of his whole life. It was as if some mighty deity had just spun him around and planted him in someone else's shoes – someone else's life.

_I'm seventeen. _

The two words were the only ones he could distinguish from the confused whirl inside his mind, but they struck an exceptionally powerful chord within him.

He choked, and stumbled back inside.

---------

It was Sunday.

The week was over, and its happenings had gone with it. Phil was gone, taking his troublesome influence somewhere else—_anywhere _else—and Ron had finally managed to lay his brother's memory to rest. Fred had been right – he had needed a chance to say goodbye. Breaks within the trio had been closed, as three more-than-just-friends smiled together and toasted their red-headed member's survival with goblets of pumpkin juice at breakfast on Saturday morning, after Ron had finally been released from the hospital wing. He'd bugged Madam Pomfrey for long enough, after coming down with a bad case of cabin fever.

It had been a tiring few days for Ron. Nearly dying really did take it out of a guy – he finally got what Harry had been complaining about all these years.

But he'd been unsettled all day, despite their apparent respite from doom and death, and it wasn't long before his two partners-in-war picked up on it. They'd been down by the lake, watching the Giant Squid drift lazily in the shallows, bathing in the unseasonable warmth, when Hermione had abruptly rounded on Ron and demanded to know what was wrong.

"_What d'you think?" were the first words out of his mouth before he could help it, and he regretted them as soon as his acid tones hit the air. _

_She blinked, hurt, and watched him with deep brown eyes. _

_He immediately felt like a callous oaf – it was the affect that particular wide-eyed expression often had on him. If only she knew what she did to him… "I'm fine, Hermione," he assured her, letting a lop-sided smile slip onto his lips – the one he knew for a fact always effected _her. _"It's just… Y'know." He shifted, a ghostly memory of the pressure of Fred's arms around him flashing through his body. "It's been a long week." _

_Harry, sprawled on the grass beside his two friends, one elbow resting on a half-complete Charms essay, nodded his agreement. "And a long year," he added. _

_Hermione rested her hand on Ron's knee, and he met her gaze – it was understanding and the offer of her comfort that shone from the depths of her heart. And he felt guilty – guilty for what he wasn't telling her; the truth that could soon break that fragile heart into a thousand fragments._

The subject hadn't been raised again, for which Ron had been glad. After the pain they'd all suffered last year—after he'd deserted them—he hated to keep things from them. But he had to. For their sake, if nothing else.

He had to protect them from the truth for as long as he could.

---------

With one hand pressed against the stone of the wall, he paused – to get his bearings as much as catch his breath. Six years he'd spent inside the walls of this castle, but now he was lost – lost, confused and in utter shock.

He sagged against the wall, his knees giving way. He slid down to sit curled up on the stone floor, his back pressed against the tapestry that adorned the grey stone. He hugged his knees to his chest and pressed his forehead against the soft, comforting fabric of his jeans – they still smelt vaguely of home, and that made tears rise to his eyes.

_Why me? _

He didn't understand it. He was the sidekick, the joker, the one who was too dense to even see that he was madly in love with a girl who loved him back with just as much fire. It shouldn't be him. It just shouldn't.

Dragging himself up with fists balled in the ancient tapestry, he regained his footing. The hallways stretched off in endless tunnels in each direction – he clenched his fists and picked a direction.

---------

His family had been at the school, during the week that had just passed.

They'd arrived early in the morning – in fact, they'd burst through the doors of the hospital wing mere moments after the Temporal Reveal Charm had run its course. Ron got the funny feeling that that might not have been a coincidence. His mother had been beside herself—a whirlwind of Weasley worry—and even Madam Pomfrey's sternest looks hadn't been enough to prise her away from her son's bedside.

Fortunately, Harry had been forgotten in the chaos – his presence wasn't even questioned by a harassed Pomfrey. He'd given his seat over to Mrs Weasley, who had proceeded to fuss over Ron to such an extent that he was tempted to feign unconsciousness just to get her to stop. But he had figured that that wouldn't have been such a good idea, considering her state of mind.

_There were tears in Molly Weasley's eyes as she smoothed the bedspread over Ron's knees, but she was doing her level best to hide that fact. "Are you warm enough?" she asked, worry thrumming in her voice. "Do you need another pillow?" _

"_Mum, I'm fine. Really," Ron answered, but it was as if she didn't even hear him. She continued to worry, constantly touching his shoulder or his cheek, as if to reassure herself that he was still here. _

_Ron turned his attention to his father, stood on the other side of his bed. Arthur Weasley smiled down at him, reaching out to touch Ron comfortingly on the shoulder – the youngest Weasley son ducked away, mock-protesting. "Getting into trouble again?" his father inquired, and the two understood each other perfectly. _

_George had entered the hospital wing too, and was stood with Harry a little way off. He caught Ron's gaze, and tossed his little brother a smile that clearly asked, _Having fun?

_But Ron couldn't quite bring himself to return the lazy grin. Not yet. _

Madam Pomfrey had finally had enough after half an hour of this – she had insisted that the Weasleys and Harry leave the hospital wing and let her patient rest. Mrs Weasley had put up quite a fight, but (with Ron's repeated assurances that he was okay and that she should really go and see Ginny) had finally capitulated to leaving.

She had hugged Ron tight, so tight he hurt, and kissed him firmly on the forehead. He'd surreptitiously rubbed at his chest as she walked away, led by her smiling husband – their son was going to be alright, so they were utterly relieved. Mrs Weasley had collared Harry, and the three of them had made their way out, with various glances back at the red-head stuck in the hospital bed.

But George had moved over to his brother.

_He smiled at Ron, reaching out to ruffle his hair. "Get well soon," he told Ron sternly. "We need you out in the real world. Don't forget that." _

_Ron's stomach twisted, and he managed a small smile. "Yeah." _

_George turned to leave, but Ron caught his wrist before he could lose his nerve. Madam Pomfrey was beginning to swing in their direction again, ready to shoo George out after his parents, but Ron ignored her. _

_The one remaining Weasley twin frowned down at his younger brother. "Ron?" he asked. "What is it?" _

_Ron's throat constricted. "George…" He stopped, and screwed his eyes shut. _

"_Hey, Ron, are you okay?" _

_Eyes still closed, Ron grabbed George's shirt and pulled him down. He felt George instinctively latch onto his shoulder for balance, and heard his soft curse in a surprised tone, but he ignored all that. He felt his brother's breath on his ear, and he whispered the words that had been plaguing him ever since he woke. _

"_He misses you too." _

_George pulled back as Ron loosed his grip, shocked. "What?" he asked, his voice cracking. _

_Ron opened his eyes and met his brother's gaze. "He's not gone," he answered. He didn't know where the words were coming from, but they were flowing and he wasn't going to stop them. Not now. Not ever. "He'll never be gone."_

"_Ron, if you're messing with me…" George was frightened – frightened and stricken. What Ron was saying was impossible; that much was clear as daylight to him. But he was listening, and that was enough. _

"_Just 'cause he's dead doesn't mean he's not there for you." _

"_Ron…" George was shaking his head. "Ron, how the hell do you _know _all this?" There was pain in his voice – pain, grief and loss. _

"_He saved my life," Ron answered, his gaze intent on his brother's. "He saved my life, and he gave me hope. And he misses you. So much." _

---------

It was late.

The blinds in the classroom were wide open for once, and the pale woman was leaning at the window. The wind rustled her black hair as it lay limply against her shoulders – she was thinking.

Mister Potter's broom still lay on her desk. She had spent most of the day going over it – repeating old spells, trying to find out what was wrong with it. Or, a more appropriate phrase would be, what had been wrong with it. The presence she had sensed before, that had attacked both her and Potter, was gone, leaving not a trace of itself behind.

_Most curious, _she thought to herself, the words running through her mind in her own tongue. _And unique. _Whoever had enchanted this broom had been a master of strange and dark magic, and, when she was honest with herself, it scared her. The manifestation she had witnessed those few days ago had been far more powerful than anything she had seen before, even in the darkest reaches of her own country where strange and dangerous forces dwelled.

And the form in which it had come…

"Alastor Moody." She tried the name out, rolling the syllables out in her mouth. "Mad-Eye."

A curious man, if what she had been told was correct. _A dead man, also, _she mused. _And that is the strangest fact of all. _

For a school, Hogwarts was certainly witness to more than its fair share of death. The battle that had taken place here in the summer, the ghosts that moved about through the castle walls, the seventh-year student who should have died twice over, and red-head, friends with the other, who's life was forfeit.

She sighed and turned around, facing the broom – and that's all it was now, a collection of wood and bindings. "You should be returned to Potter," she said softly, speaking to the broomstick itself. "You are dangerous no longer."

She approached the desk, leaning her white forearms on the smooth surface. The crimson on her nails was chipped now, as she picked up the vial of dark red that sat on the surface, just beside the troublesome broomstick. A strange smile tugged her lips upwards as she uncapped the tiny bottle – it was tilted up, just slightly, and red ran out onto her fingertip. A haze seemed to swim across her gaze, just for a moment, as the scent of blood filled her senses.

But then she hurled the vial across the room, sending it smashing into the far wall. Blood was spattered across the stone. Crimson dripped from her hand. _Get a hold of yourself, _she told herself. _You cannot afford to let your instincts override your brain – especially not now. _She let out a soft breath. _That part of me is gone. It has to be. _

Struggling to keep a cool demeanour in place, she returned to the window. She would clean up the blood later – after all, it wasn't the first time she'd very nearly given in to the temptation that ruled her whole waking life. By now, she was used to it.

_Ah, Mister Potter… _She shook her head. _Now _that _was a mistake, and it certainly was fortunate what that strange boy did. _She paused. _Well, fortunate for me at least. Maybe not so much for Potter and his friends. _Definitely _not for his friends._

---------

He stopped.

The Fat Lady frowned down at him as he just stood there, silent. "Well?" she demanded, in that subtle way she had. "Password?"

He barely heard her. The words were buzzing inside his skull again, but he pushed them to the side, fighting them back. _They're in there. They're happy. Can I do this to them? _But it didn't matter if he wanted to keep them safe – it wasn't his choice any more.

He'd start to change soon—not in a visual sense, but he would be different all the same—and they'd notice. Of course they would – the three who were waiting for him in the common room knew him better than anyone else in the world.

"Weasley?" It was the Fat Lady again. She was frowning at him, and the portraits surrounding her were leaning in to, intrigued by the red-headed teenager who stood stooped before them.

"_Pax,_" he murmured softly.

A frown creasing her painted forehead, the Fat Lady's portrait swung forward – Ron stepped inside.

---------

"_I've got to go, guys." _

"_What?" Harry looked up from his almost-complete Charms essay, quill in hand. He fixed Ron with a quizzical look. "It's three in the afternoon. Where the hell are you going?" There was a joke in his voice, and Ron felt his stomach twist at his friend's easy tone. _

_So he shrugged, beginning to rise. "Don't ask me – who am I to question the ways of the Pomfrey?" He'd intended his words to sound like a joke, but the alarm that crossed Hermione's face and the sudden tension in Harry's forearms told him he'd missed the mark – just a bit. _

"_Madam Pomfrey?" Hermione asked, her voice full of fear. _

"_It's nothing – just a check-up," Ron assured her, the lies falling easily from his lips. "I nearly died – she's just fussing." _

"_Ron—" Harry began. He was pulling himself into a sitting position as he spoke, exchanging a worried glance with Ginny who had been twirling a daisy between her slender fingers. _

"_It's the truth, Harry," Ron interrupted. "Nothing to be worried about." _

"_Can't I come with you?" Hermione asked. _

"_Me too," Ginny added, and Harry nodded silently. _

_Ron cast his gaze to the blue sky – partly to seem like he was despairing at their tenacity, but partly because he couldn't look at them and continue his charade. "No you can't," he answered. "I've got no idea what clothes that damn Healer is going to order me to remove, so you're not coming with me. I have _some _dignity, I'll have you know!" _

_Hermione's face relaxed into a small smile, and Ron knew that he'd succeeded in pulling the wool over her eyes – mainly because he'd promised her that he'd never lie to her. His heart hurt as he remembered that – the two of them curled up together in his bed at the Burrow, her fears that had spilled from her so fast her lips could barely keep up. She'd worried about their schoolmates, about the adults, about everyone who never told them the truth. And he'd sworn to her from the depths of his heart that he would never lie to her. _

_He'd lied to himself when he'd said that, and he hated himself for it. _

"_Dunno how long I'll be," he said, pulling himself back together. "Could be five minutes, could be five hours. But I'll see you later." _

"_We'll probably be back in the common room by six," Harry added quietly. _

_Ron met his gaze levelly. Harry's green eyes were inscrutable, but the red-head knew that look. It was the look Harry got whenever he _knew _that someone wasn't telling him the truth. Ron had never expected to see it levelled at him. "I'll see you then, then," he answered, just as soft. _

"_We'll stay up for you," Harry countered. _

"_You do that," Ron finished, and turned away to leave. _

"_Ron!" _

_He paused and glanced back over his shoulder. Hermione was on her feet and stepping after him. There was a tiny glimmer in her brown eyes – a glimmer he'd missed earlier that spoke of the smallest vestige of fear left. Resting her hand on his right arm, she rose onto her toes and kissed his cheek. _

_Hermione smiled at him. "Good luck." _

_And it had been in that moment that Ron had known that this day was going to end in tears. _

---------

It was ten thirty at night.

Most of the Gryffindors had retired to their dormitories – clattering up the stairs in twos and threes, laughing as they went. It was the start of term. People were happy.

But three were left in the common room, clustered around the merrily burning fire, and it was these three that Ron watched from across the room.

He'd come through the portrait hole silently, his mind finally clearing. None of them had heard him, and for that he was thankful. Suddenly tired, he'd leant against the stone wall, praying to some distant deity to hold him upright and keep him going. He needed to keep going. For now, at least.

He moved forward.

It was Harry who first noticed his presence. It must have been something in his expression that gave away at least one part of his secret, because horror flickered in Harry's eyes. "Oh God," he whispered.

Ginny, her eyes locked on the fire, looked up and over at her brother. He tried to smile at her, but he couldn't force his lips to work. "Ron?" she asked, her voice a whisper. She suddenly seemed very childlike, and Ron remembered the eight-year-old he had used to play with in the back garden of the Burrow. His throat constricted.

And then Hermione turned in her seat. Her hair was windswept and frizzing around her face; bags were beginning to cling to her skin beneath her eyes. She looked tired, but ridiculously alert at the same time. And she just _looked _at him. There were no words and no movements, just the meeting of blue and brown.

"Please, no," she whispered.

And then Ron was moving. He covered the distance between him and them in two short strides, and he pulled Hermione into his fierce embrace before she was even fully out of her chair. He knew that he'd lifted her off her feet—just like when they'd first kissed, in the summer that felt so long ago—but he didn't care. He buried his face in the crook of her neck as her arms went around his neck, and he felt the tears start to come. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry. I couldn't tell you 'til I was sure – I couldn't worry you. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I thought it would be best, that Pomfrey was just overreacting. But…" The rest of his words were covered by a sob, and he was vaguely aware that he was shaking.

"But she was wrong, wasn't she?" Harry asked softly.

Ron lifted his face from Hermione's neck and lowered her down to the ground, tear tracks shining on his freckled cheeks. She looked up at him, confused. "Ron?" she asked. "What happened?"

He cupped her cheeks between his hands. "She was wrong," he said, echoing Harry's words.

Hermione rested her hands on his shoulders. "What do you mean?" she asked softly.

He was shivering. It wasn't cold, but he was still shivering. _I'm in shock, _he vaguely registered, just as his knees gave out and the three of them caught him with three cries of shock.

The sofa was soft as he was lowered into it. Hermione's gaze was concerned as she touched his face gently. "Ron?" she asked.

His fingers wrapped themselves around her wrist, and he was vaguely aware of Harry and Ginny watching him – but all he could focus on was her. "I'm sick," he whispered, his voice hollow. "Very sick."

Hermione's face blanched. "What?" she whispered.

Harry leaned forward, gripping Ron's shoulder. "It's bad, isn't it?"

All Ron could do was nod.

"How long?" Harry's voice cracked.

"Harry, don't say things like—"

Ron spoke right over Ginny, his gaze locked on Harry. "If they can find a treatment," he whispered, "I'll be okay. Live to be a hundred, that kind of thing."

"And if they can't?"

Ron blinked, and a tear ran down his cheek. "I'm seventeen," he whispered.

"Ron!" Harry shook him lightly. "If they can't find a treatment. What then?"

"Harry, stop it," Ginny said sharply. "Can't you see he's in shock? He needs to sleep."

Harry shook his head firmly. "I have to know. _We _have to know."

"Can't you see—"

"Three months."

Silence hung in the air.

Ginny pressed her hands to her mouth, eyes wide and abruptly full of tears.

Ron turned his head to face Hermione. Her face was dry, but agony and such love shone from her eyes. He'd caused her pain, and he hated himself for it. He reached up to touch her face. "I'll be dead in three months," he whispered.

---------


	12. Dark Times and Smiles

Disclaimer etc.: see Prologue.

Back! Has it been a week already? Time flies... Gawd, Year 11 is busy!

Anyway - thanks to my lovely, amazing reviewers: **cmanuk**, **Gene Kelly**, **the-missing-arm-of-krum**, **Autumn Skys**, **connieewing**, **Ginny Guerra**, **bloomsgirl**, **MBP**, **EH**, **ronniemione**, **scorpiagirl93**, **Dwindlingcandle**, **victorya71**, **Dreamer758**, **josephina**,** Woollongong Shimmy**, **Ehlonna**, **iamsheena**, **WishIWasJKR**, **neville 2.0**, **TXGator**, **silent seabreeze**, **keske**, **RaeDawq00**, **Lisey**, **RonWeasleyismiking**, **kyo'slittlesister**, **Kimmilein**, **Hermione781**, **rileyonline**, **Mimi **and **crashing-xx**, even if your review for the last chapter somehow got submitted for the first chapter... :D

Not too sure about this chapter. It worries me. Plus, that freaky girl does too. -author is scared by her own fic-

R&R will help me with my English coursework (yet another scary thing) and enjoy!

To Continue

_11 - Dark Times and Smiles_

Ron was shaking under the blankets – he was asleep, but he was still shaking. It didn't make sense, Harry knew that, but that didn't change the fact that the red-head was shaking like a leaf. Harry felt his stomach clench. Ginny was sat beside him, her fingers clutching his so tight it almost hurt. She was scared, but Harry couldn't quite bring himself to comfort her.

_Three months. _

The bile rose in his throat.

Hermione was perched beside Ron, holding his right hand between hers. Her gaze hadn't shifted from his face since he'd finally slipped into dream-streaked oblivion, and she was silent. She hadn't said a word since the three of them had ushered his shaking form up the stairs to the dormitory and put him to bed, still fully clothed. As a matter of fact, none of them had. They were all shocked; all silent.

All scared.

"Could she be wrong?" It was Ginny who spoke first, her voice echoing hollowly in the quiet of the bedroom.

For a moment, neither of the other two answered – Hermione barely seemed to acknowledge that Ginny had even spoken. Harry looked down at his knees and squeezed the fingers that were interlaced with his. "I hope so," was all the answer he could give.

---------

The room was black, and it suited her thoughts.

It wasn't always black, of course. Sometimes it was light and airy – full of white drapes and low couches. But right now, as she stewed and ruminated, swathes of black rolled themselves over the walls and the couch beneath her turned to a bed of stone.

It suited her thoughts.

_Failure. _

She hated failure – before the disastrous summer that had ruined everything she dreamed of, failure meant punishment. Punishment and maybe even death. But the defeat of the Dark Lord had changed all that, and _righteousness _and _good _now reigned supreme.

It made her sick.

But that was beside the point. Failure had happened – the Weasley boy was still alive, in all his red-headed glory. In all his tall, lean, perfectly formed glory.

She bared her teeth in the darkness, letting out a soft snarl.

_It should have worked, _she growled inside her head. _And worked fast. I don't care if there was a back-up in place – I want him dead _now!

There was no answer, but she hadn't been expecting one. Her fingers curled into claws in the soft flesh of her naked thighs – her skin was startlingly white in the darkness, and sickly green eyes gleamed from a gaunt face. Her spine curved as her back arched and a low hiss emanated from her throat.

The darkness coiled around her.

Her every movement slow, as if moving through water, she reclined on the stone beneath her – it was freezing against her bare skin, and her mouth gaped in a silent scream as the chill reverberated through her starved body. _One boy! _she screeched inside her head. _One hot-headed boy! How hard could it be? _

The tarnished heart-shaped locket around her neck gathered in the hollow of her throat with its chain as she writhed on the stone slab – it was her emaciated body's only decoration. Stick-thin arms twisted in the air – reaching and grasping at the shadows above her. She keened, her jaw working as the animal sound escaped.

And then she began to laugh. It was a throaty sound – low, grating and completely devoid of humour. But she was laughing, her ribs standing out in sharp relief as she arched up off the slab, clawed fingers scratching at the blackness around her.

"My turn," her voice hissed out, and the darkness deepened.

---------

The Great Hall was relatively quiet as they entered. There were few people in the hall at this early hour – a couple of Hufflepuffs, a scattering of Ravenclaws and a trio of Slytherins were seated and eating at their respective tables. The Gryffindor table was empty, and only an owlishly-bedraggled Professor Trelawney was in place at the teachers' table. She looked more confused and vacant than normal, if that was possible.

The four of them took their seats – Harry and Ginny on one side, Ron and Hermione opposite them. For a moment they just sat there in silence, staring at each other. There was so much that needed to be said, and so much that needed explanation that no one quite knew where to start.

With the eyes of the others upon him, Ron sighed and leaned forward, his forearms resting on the table. "I guess we need to talk," he said, breaching the silence that hung between them.

"You could say that," Harry answered quietly.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Ginny asked, her fingers bunched up in the sleeves of her robes. "You must have known something was wrong all of yesterday, but you said _nothing. _Why?"

Ron rubbed at his eyes. His shoulders were slumped, and he seemed tired. "I didn't want you to worry," he mumbled. "I managed to convince myself that it was nothing – that Pomfrey'd just made a mistake. We've all been through so much and…" He sighed, and his hands dropped to lie limp on the table. "I just wanted everything to be okay again," he admitted. "I didn't want it to be true."

Wordlessly, Hermione reached out and slipped her hand into his. He didn't look up at her, but the way his fingers instinctively tightened around hers told her exactly how much he needed that contact. She squeezed back, and waited for him to continue.

Ron sat up straighter. "It was a little surprise left behind by our good friend Phil," he stated simply. "I guess it was something that'd kick in if I survived by some miracle." The red-head sighed and rubbed at his eyes. "Bastard really thought it through," he muttered.

"The bad guys tend to do that," Harry commented.

Ron's lips twitched up in a humourless smile. It was so much like the banter-laden conversations they used to have, but so different at the same time – it hurt to listen to, and to be a part of. "Yeah, well." He looked down. "That doesn't help me now," he said softly.

Harry leant forward. "You mentioned a cure," he stated flatly.

"Yeah, I did." Ron glanced up again. "A bunch of Healers from St Mungos were here yesterday – that's where I went. Hospital wing." He paused, and a spasm of anger flickered across his face, just for a second. It passed, and he continued. "Madam Pomfrey told me before she kicked me out on Saturday. She said that she thought there was something wrong with me. Something other than the effects of being unconscious and hallucinating."

"You weren't hallucinating," Harry interrupted quietly.

Ron shot him a look. "I know that," he replied, maybe a bit too sharply. "Her words, not mine." Again he felt the anger – that inexplicable urge to lash out at those around him, with fists or magic or whatever's near to hand. He struggled, just for a moment, his teeth gritted and muscles tensed. Then he felt Hermione's fingers tightened almost-imperceptibly around his own – he glanced up and into her worried brown eyes. The anger left him.

"What did she say?" Ginny's voice was soft as she spoke – soft and tentative.

"She said…" He trailed off, a bitter smile tracing his lips. "She said that it scared her," he completed.

Harry sighed. "And coming from her…"

"Yeah."

Beside Ron, Hermione smiled slightly. "We're never going to have a quiet, simple year, are we?"

"Apparently not," Ron agreed heavily.

"When will we know?" Hermione's dark eyes were fixed upon him and she spoke, but he was loath to meet her gaze. "Ron."

He forced a shrug. "Depends when the Healers figure anything out. Madam Pomfrey said she'd contact me as soon as she knew anything." He sighed. "Could be tomorrow. Could be weeks."

"You don't have weeks."

Ron didn't look at Harry. "I know."

"What'll happen to you?" Harry pressed.

The red-head could feel that damn anger coming back, but he forced it back down. _No, _he told himself. _You tell them everything. No more hiding. _"I'm not exactly sure," he began. "But Pomfrey gave me a general idea. She said I'd be tired – that's how it'd probably start. My emotions and stuff would go all wonky – mood-swings." He shrugged again. "Y'know. She wasn't exactly clear on the matter—"

"Ron." It was Hermione who spoke this time – her voice soft but commanding.

He shared a look with her, blue eyes sharp. "It'll get worse," he finally continued. "I'll get more and more tired, and more and more cranky, so I'm sorry in advance." A tiny smile twitched his lips, and then it was gone. "And I'll eventually just go to sleep. I'll go sleep and I won't wake up again."

"So no bursting into flames?" Harry commented wryly.

Ron smiled. " 'Fraid not."

Harry paused, and three sets of eyes landed on him suspiciously. " 'Mood-swings'?" he asked. He smirked. "You're gonna be like a hormonal teenage girl."

"Harry!" Ginny exclaimed, her fists thumping into his arm. The mood lightened, and that was something they were all grateful for. There are some situations where you have to laugh, or you cry, and this four were all out of tears. Humour, even it was slightly manic at times, was a release.

Ron laughed. It was the first time he'd properly laughed since he'd been shocked into numbness the previous night, and it was a blessing. Smiling, he focused on Harry. "It's good to have you back," he admitted.

Harry's smirk became a soft smile. "It's good to be back," he concurred. "And if you need anything – any time…"

Ron nodded, and the two of them exchanged a loaded look. "I know," he replied, and those two words held more meaning and emotion than a thousand flowery declarations ever could – hope, fear, friendship and the bond between two men who would go to hell and back for each other.

In that moment, with his blue gaze locked on Harry's green, Ron felt more of a man than he ever had since his seventeenth birthday.

He smiled.

"Which reminds me," Hermione interrupted, breaking the moment with a smile on her lips. "We've got a lot of issues that need to be cleared up."

"Yeah," Ginny agreed, her hand in Harry's. "I'm confused."

"Right. What do we have that needs to be sorted out?" Harry began. "First, who that weird woman is—"

"Second, what Moody has to do with anything—"

"Third, what these bite marks Ron keeps going on about are—"

"Fourth, where those bite marks went—"

"Fifth, where Phil went—"

"Sixth, what the teachers are hiding from us—"

"And seventh, how to save Ron's life, get rid of the bad guys, figure out why and if that weird woman is biting people and to get to the bottom of the teachers' conspiracy," Harry finished.

"Oh, we're going to have a busy year," Ron commented with a sigh.

"When do we not?" Hermione and Ginny chorused.

---------

"What are you going to tell your parents?" Hermione asked softly.

She and Ron were stood a little way away from the others – Ginny had kidnapped Harry and dragged him off to her friends, who were currently in various states of amazement. Harry's cheeks were furiously red, and the gaggle of students waiting with them outside the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom were highly amused by Harry Potter blushing.

Ron took her hands in his, avoiding her gaze. "I don't know if I will," he replied. "Mum was terrified when she found out what nearly happened to me."

"Ron, you _have _to tell them."

"I don't, though." Ron looked up. "Madam Pomfrey told me that she can't contact them without my permission – we're legally adults now, despite the fact that we've come back to Hogwarts. I have to tell them, or at least tell her she can." He gently stroked the back of her hands with his thumbs, and dropped his gaze to focus on his task. "I don't think I can do that."

"There were a lot of 'I's in that speech," Hermione remarked.

Ron didn't answer, his gaze downcast.

Hermione freed her right hand from his grasp and reached up to touch his face – she tilted his head up until she met his gaze. "Ron, your life is in danger," she said softly, oblivious to the bustle of students around them. "If the Healers can't help you, then you're in trouble."

Ron smiled – it was an empty expression. "No one seems to be able to tell me that I'm going to die."

He felt her muscles stiffen. "That's because you're not going to," she replied levelly.

"Hermione…"

"Ron." She wriggled her left hand out of his grasp, and laid it against his other cheek, cupping his face between her hands. "I will not let you die," she whispered. "Not until we've lived a long life together, okay? And I will _never _let someone else—especially not some loser like Phil Parsons—take you from me."

A smile twitched Ron's lips, and—embarrassingly enough—he felt tears prick at the back of his eyes. "I love you, Hermione," he said softly and honestly.

She blinked, surprised. Those were three words that they had never quite managed to say to each other since they had taken their friendship to a deeper level, and Ron had always assumed that they would finally be voiced in some deeply romantic moment – atop some windswept moors with just them and the sky, or over a candlelit dinner.

At a moment like this, in a corridor surrounded by chattering students and in the aftermath of such grief and fear, had never quite drifted into his addled mind. But it felt so right.

Hermione smiled. "I love you too, you idiot," she replied affectionately. "Even if you have developed a tendency to get yourself into life-threatening danger."

He pulled her into a hug, pulling her up onto her toes in an almost-imitation of their first kiss. "Good thing I've got you with me to keep me safe, then," he mumbled into her ear.

"Good thing, indeed."

The students around them began to move, slipping through the open doors of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.

The pair of them broke apart, and Hermione poked him firmly in the chest. "This conversation isn't over," she insisted. "I'm not done with you yet."

He grinned at her suggestively. "I bet you're not."

"Behave. We have to go learn."

He pulled a face, and the pair of them tagged along at the end of the class trailing into the classroom, fingers lightly intertwined.

And then they stopped in the doorway, side-by-side with an equally-shocked Harry and Ginny. The Boy-Who-Lived turned to the pair of them. "Tell me that's not who I think it is."

"It's Bite-Mark Woman!" Ron breathed.

Ginny pressed a hand to her forehead. "Why do I get the feeling that this is not going to be a peaceful lesson?" she asked.

Harry's expression was grim. "Probably because you'd be right," he answered. He led the other three in, and the doors closed behind them. The classroom was dim, lit by candles and hovering globes of light – it leant the room a mystic atmosphere that was probably more reserved for a Divination class.

"Trelawney could take lessons from this one," Ron commented, but no one laughed.

Over the heads of unpacking students, a black-haired boy met a pale woman's gaze. She smiled, and there was nothing welcoming in that expression whatsoever.

---------


	13. The Borrowing of Ideas

Disclaimer etc.; see Prologue.

Hey! I'm back! Sorry about the delay - I have too much on at the moment. And I'm starting Mandarin lessons on Thursday. So much work...

I have been wanting to write that end scene for _so long _now! Since, like, chapter nine! It's really weird!!

Thanks to my lovely reviewers: **Autumn Skys**, **scorpiagirl93**, **rileyonline**, **ronniemione**, **Do you believe in magic. I do**, **twouble**, **Ginny Guerra**, **cmanuk**, **TXGator**, **Dwindlingcandle**, **connieewing**, **RonWeasleyismiking**, **Gene Kelly**, **Hermione781**, **keske**, **Kimmilein**, **neville 2.0**, **Woollongong Shimmy**, **Crazed organist**, **callernumber16onz100**, **iamsheena** and **crashing-xx**. I love you all!

And where'd everyone go? You all died muchly... Very confusing.

R&R is blessed to the Muse, and enjoy!

To Continue 

_12 - The Borrowing of Ideas_

The lesson wasn't as interesting as they'd all expected it to be.

Sure, it was _interesting,_ especially if you were the sort of person that liked learning about the origins of various seriously nasty curses and hexes (the Unforgivables being among them), but nothing actually _happened_. Harry spent the entire lesson glaring at the teacher and fingering the side of his neck, an expression dark enough to match his hair colouring his face, but she didn't rise to his aggressive behaviour. The class noticed the undercurrent of tension, though, which gave the Slytherins something to whisper about.

And it had given the rumour mill something _further _to ponder and mutter over when, at the end of the lesson, the pale woman had called Harry to the front of the class and handed him a very familiar broomstick.

He'd been seething, but she'd merely dismissed the class with a victorious smirk adorning her not-quite pretty features.

---------

It was the end of the day, and Ron and Harry were outside. Dark shadows were winding themselves around the spires and turrets of Hogwarts, and the grounds were already bathed in blackness. Only the barest inkling of light trickled over the horizon.

The two boys were drifting high up in the air, each astride his broomstick – Harry with his suddenly-returned Firebolt, and Ron with his battered old Cleansweep. They'd been weaving and dodging in and out of the castle battlements for a while now, narrowly missing careening into tiled rooftops and catching already-torn jeans on the pinnacles of towers. Now they hung still, catching their breath, cheeks ruddy and bodies worn out.

With the sort of finesse normally expected of a pro, Harry slowly moved his broom so he was floating side-by-side with Ron and they drifted back to the open window on Gryffindor Tower that marked their deserted room.

The red-head glanced over at his friend. "How's she handle?" he asked softly.

Harry's thumb moved in slowly circles on the softly-gleaming wood as he gripped his Firebolt. "Same as she ever did," he answered. "Whatever it was that we saw…" He shook his head. "It's gone now."

Ron nodded. "I'm just glad you let Hermione test it before you brought it out here," he commented mildly. "I noticed you didn't drive me to jinxing you and Ginny to giving you a slightly spectacular black eye."

Rolling his eyes, Harry jerked his broom sideways and knocked into Ron – the Weasley boy smiled as he caught himself. "Yes, I think I've grown," he remarked, sarcasm twining through his voice.

"Good to hear."

"Shut up."

Ron smirked. "You wanna go for another spin?"

Harry shook his head. "The sun's nearly gone down." He shrugged, miraculously keeping his balance as he did so. "Plus, I don't want someone to notice us. We're not exactly supposed to be flying around the school at night. It'd probably be frowned on."

"Yeah," Ron agreed seriously, a hint of that lopsided grin twitching his lips. "McGonagall might give us detention – we wouldn't want that."

Harry smiled, and warmth from their easy camaraderie flowed through him. "No," he agreed. "That'd be dreadful."

Ron laughed.

Smiling, Harry flew silently to the unlatched window and lightly pushed it open with his heel. Leaving his broom to hover outside the ancient glass, he balanced precariously on the windowsill for a moment before jumping over Ron's messy drawers and landing with a loud thump on the floor. He leant out the window and retrieved his Firebolt, leaving the space free for Ron to make his equally-ungainly entrance.

Ron sniffed as he ran a hand through his hair. He pulled his broom inside and then latched the window, leaving Harry free to sink down onto his mattress. "Why did we never do that before?" he wondered out loud. "I mean, six years we spent at Hogwarts. Why'd we never go for an evening fly?"

"Because we had Dean, Neville and Seamus in the same dorm as us?" Harry suggested. "And more important things to take care of? Like plots and quests and dragons and girls?"

Ron shrugged. "I s'pose."

"Let's not tell Hermione, though," Harry said thoughtfully.

Ron snorted. "Yeah. She would _not _like that."

Harry watched his friend's face keenly. "She's turning out to be quite the rebel this year," he commented. "Casting spells on teachers, threatening to hex Madam Pomfrey, passing _notes _in _class_…"

Ron affected shock. "I know!" He smirked. "We've finally managed to corrupt her."

Harry laughed. "I don't think there's any 'we' about it," he said honestly. "You've had a greater effect on her than you realise."

"Me?" Ron gave him a look. "Get real, Harry."

"I'm serious!" Harry defended. "I guess sleeping with a girl really _can _bring her round to your way of thinking…"

Ron flushed bright red, his face abruptly matching his flaming hair. "I haven't _slept _with her," he mumbled.

"Uh huh," Harry replied sceptically.

"I haven't!" Ron protested.

"Ron, we stayed at the same house for a lot of the summer, remember?" Harry pointed out. "You slept in the same room as me—where you were _supposed _to sleep—for about two nights."

" 'Cause you were with my sister!" Ron exclaimed.

Harry smirked. "And?"

Ron sighed explosively. "Okay, I slept with her," he replied. "But I didn't _sleep _with her." At Harry's raised eyebrow, he waved his hands helplessly at his friend. "You know what I mean!" he defended irritably. "In the same bed!"

"Yeah. Sure."

"I should hit you," Ron threatened darkly.

"Fought Voldemort—" Ron cringed "—therefore _you_ don't scare me much."

"I should do," the red-head muttered, flopping back on his bed. "You should be terrified of me."

"When hell freezes over, maybe."

"You're such a _good _friend," Ron complained.

Harry laughed, and dragged his crinkled pyjamas out from underneath his blankets. "Don't I know it."

"Git."

"Yep."

Ron threw a pillow at Harry, who merely snatched it out of the air and added it to his own. The red-head made an obscene gesture at his desperately-trying-not-to-smirk friend, and began the long and laborious search for his own pyjamas. Moving so he was sat on the edge of his bed, he dragged of his worn jeans and pulled a pair of familiar maroon pyjamas trousers on – the stopped halfway down his calves, and Harry fought back a laugh at the ridiculous sight.

Nevertheless, Ron heard, and he glared at his best friend.

That didn't help.

Muttering something about "inconsiderate oafs", Ron turned his back to the green-eyed boy and dragged his tattered brown shirt over his head – he cast it into a growing pile at the foot of his bed, awaiting the laundry collection that was due tomorrow.

Harry bit back a gasp.

Ron glanced back, his forehead furrowed as he heard the startled sound. "Harry?" he asked, concerned. "You okay?"

Harry couldn't quite bring himself to speak – he couldn't drag his eyes away from the thick, ragged scar that traced itself around Ron's chest and across his back. It was as if someone had wrapped a massive string of white barbed wire around the red-head's torso and forced it into his skin: the sight stopped Harry's breath.

—_the red shines like fire and it's hurting him so much oh god it's hurting him and if he could breathe he would be screaming but he can't breathe oh god, Ron!—_

Ron tugged a maroon shirt down over his head and retreated beneath his blankets, his expression unreadable.

Harry found his voice. "Ron, why didn't you say something?"

"What's to say?" Ron answered softly. "It's just a scar."

"Couldn't—"

"Madam Pomfrey couldn't get rid of it," Ron spoke over his friend. "She tried, and so did the blokes from St. Mungos. Nothing. It won't go." He continued to stare intently at the canopy above his head, avoiding Harry's gaze. "Phil left his mark," he finished.

Harry knew that Ron didn't want sympathy or empty reassurances that everything would be okay – to tell the truth, he didn't know if everything was going to be okay. If the beginning of the year was anything to go by…

"I'm beginning to wish I'd killed that bastard the moment I set eyes on him," Harry said.

Ron's lips quirked upwards in a tiny smile. "Yeah," he agreed. "I wish you had, too."

Harry sighed and copied Ron, sliding beneath his blankets. "I don't get any of it," he said suddenly. "Anything. At all. I don't get who Phil was, I don't get what he did to you. I don't get what the teachers are hiding, and I don't get who that bloody Bite-Mark woman is, either." He rubbed at his eyes. "I'm confused, Ron," he admitted. "And more than a little scared. With Voldemort gone, it was supposed to be over. What happened?"

"I don't think it'll ever be really over," Ron said quietly. "I mean, we chased You-Know-Who for seven years of our lives. Seven years. That's a long time – a hell of a long time. And they never did get all the Death Eaters, did they?"

Frowning, Harry propped himself up on his elbow. "You think Phil was a Death Eater?" he asked, incredulous.

Ron rolled onto his side, his head resting on his lone pillow. "Maybe," he answered. "I mean, it makes sense – why he wanted to hurt you. And how he knew all that Dark Magic."

"He hurt _you_, Ron," Harry pointed out.

"In order to hurt you," Ron shot back. "It's not exactly a secret that you, me and Hermione are friends. What other reason would someone have for trying to hurt me than to get to you? I'm not exactly special."

"You're special to me," Harry replied softly.

"Exactly." Ron wrinkled his nose. "Don't go getting all mushy on me now, mate."

Harry smiled. "Don't worry. I won't."

"Good."

Harry chewed his lip. "But how could Phil be a Death Eater?" he insisted. "He couldn't've been more than seventeen!"

"Remember our good friend Polyjuice Potion?"

"Oh yeah."

"Or he could just be a really young Death Eater."

"Like Malfoy."

"But better." At Harry's questioning look, Ron shrugged. "You've gotta admit, Malfoy was a bit of a crap Death Eater."

Harry smiled. "Maybe."

There was silence for a moment. Candlelight cast flicking shadows across the walls, and the drapes of the four-poster beds cast the corners into deep shadow. It was deep black outside—the sun had hidden itself behind the horizon—and the tiny dormitory room felt cosy and warm.

"How are you holding up?" Harry asked suddenly.

Ron didn't need to ask for clarification. He sighed, and rolled back onto his back. "I'm okay, I guess," he answered softly. "Trying desperately to pretend that it's not real." He shook his hands, and Harry saw his eyes gleam wetly in the light from the flickering candles. "Three months is suddenly an awfully short time."

"They'll find some way to help you," Harry said.

"Yeah. Course they will." There was defeat in Ron's voice.

"And even if they don't, we will." Harry's voice was firm, and Ron looked over at him, a question in his blue eyes. Harry smiled. "You didn't think we were just going to sit there and let you stew, did you?" he asked. "We're gonna figure out what's wrong with you, and then we're going to make it go away."

"You a Healer, now?"

"When I have to be."

"Thank you," Ron said, softly, honestly.

"You're my best friend," Harry answered. "You don't have to thank me for anything."

"Maybe." Ron turned his attention back to the drapes above his head. "Hogwarts is more dangerous than we thought," he mused softly. "I figured that it'd be like being back in first year when we came back – peaceful, easy, and nothing more dangerous than a bloke with a stutter and a face on the back of his head."

Harry smiled at that.

"But it's not, is it?" Ron continued. "There're still secrets here, and they're still dangerous."

They were both thinking it. "Eva," Harry said quietly. The tiny smile on the pale woman's face flickered across his mind – it was overlaid by an image of her with her eyes rolled back in her head and blood on his fingers.

Ron sighed. "Professor Selena Eva," he recited. "Or, the Bite-Mark woman." He shook his head. "Who _is _she?"

"I don't know," Harry answered. "She can't be evil—McGonagall wouldn't've taken her on if she was bad—but she's not exactly good either. Just… confusing."

"And bitey."

Harry laughed. "That too."

A strange expression abruptly came across Ron's face. "Harry," he said slowly. "Don't you think that with all these… strange happenings around, we should be doing something to protect the students? I mean, if the teachers've gone bad and there're Death Eaters wandering the school at will, we should do something."

"Like what?" Harry asked sceptically. "Free duelling lessons, complete with monster slaying courses?"

Ron propped himself up on his elbow, facing Harry. His free hand was splayed across his chest, almost subconsciously covering the scar that hid beneath his maroon pyjama top. "That wasn't quite what I had in mind," he said slowly. "I think we should borrow Neville's idea."

" 'Neville's idea'?" Harry echoed.

---------

They began appearing all over school within the next few days. Students gazed up at them, some with confusion and some with small, battle-hardened smiles. Peeves was seen to make kamikaze runs at several, only to swoop through them, screeching joyfully.

But whenever a teacher rounded the corner they vanished.

They were banners – white banners. An animal stood resplendent in each corner: top left, a gold and red lion that pawed at the ground beneath it and roared silently; top right, a yellow and black badger, reared up on its hind legs with paws resting on the top of the letter it stood beside; bottom left, a bronze and blue eagle, wings flapping in flight and talons out stretched; and bottom right, a silver and green serpent, coiling and uncoiling, hissing out of the banner.

That last creature had been the subject of a loud and heated argument between Harry and Ron. Harry had won.

But it was the words, scrawled in bold, black script, which held everyone's attention.

Students who knew what the words meant whispered it to others, and soon the school was buzzing with the news. People asked why; people asked how.

But no one, not even the Slytherins, told the teachers.

Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger stood beneath one of their banners, staring up at it. Each of the three wore identical smiles – small, secretive and victorious smiles.

Harry glanced over at Ron. "Neville's idea," he said.

Ron nodded. "Neville's idea."

"Think it'll work?" Hermione asked.

"It'll work," Harry answered confidently.

Above them, bold letters called out four simple words to the passing students, who cast equal glances to the banner and the trio beneath it.

_Dumbledore's Army: still recruiting. _

---------


	14. Recruitment

Disclaimer etc.: see Prologue.

-cracks knuckles- Here we go. Back to angst!

Thanks to my wonderful reviewers: **Autumn Skys**, **RonWeasleyismiking**, **cmanuk**, **ThruSnape'sEyes**, **twouble**, **EH**, **Kimmilein**, **snowyowl7**, **Ginny Guerra**, **connieewing**, **ShatteredTruth**, **Woollongong Shimmy**, **carowla weasley**, **sweetiepie1019**,** TXGator**, **keske**, **xoxoBlackOwl**, **scorpiagirl93**, **crashing-xx**, **Gene Kelly**, **Ehlonna**, **silent seabreeze**,** WishIWasJKR**, **weasleyismyprince**, **rileyonline**, **LOSTinharrypotter**, **Evelyn Granger**, **Dwindlingcandle**, **vampireshavemorefun **and **LemoN-X-DroP**. I love you all very muchly!

_Manky chapter title! _If anyone has ideas for a better one, submit them. Please. Honest, I hate that chapter title, but I couldn't think of anything else! I think I'm too wrapped up in the rugby... The All Blacks and Australia are out! South Africa aren't though... Bugger. God, I hope Scotland beat Argentina. -starts singing- Oh flower o' Scotland...

Anyway! R&R is blessed to Muse (and will hopefully stop it being stolen by the wonderful new Robin Hood... bad Allan!) and enjoy!

To Continue

_13 - Recruitment_

The door to The Burrow swung open easily under his touch, and Ron peered inside. "Hello?" he called, tentatively stepping over the threshold.

"Ron!" He heard his mother come bustling down the stairs, and there was surprise written in her eyes as she came into view. "Shouldn't you be at school?"

Ron shrugged. "It's the weekend, Mum," he commented, as if it was obvious. "I left the grounds and Apparated home."

Mrs Weasley smiled at him. "It's good to see you," she said. "How are you?"

Ron looked down. "That's what I've come about, Mum," he said softly.

"What do you mean?"

There was fear in his mother's eyes, and Ron began to wish that he'd let Hermione accompany him. This was too hard, and so he did the only thing he could think of. He stepped forward and hugged her, eyes screwed shut as he tried not to cry.

"Ron?"

"I'm sorry, Mum," he whispered.

---------

"It's nearly time."

"Yeah." Harry glanced down at the battered watch that was strapped around his wrist, as if checking Ron's words. He barely saw the sweeping hands. His mind was elsewhere. He sighed softly, his hands curling and uncurling by his sides. For the past hour he hadn't been able to stay still – adrenaline and fire flooded through his veins.

"Nervous?" Ron observed, arms crossed loosely over his chest. It was a position he seemed to adopt more and more recently: arms linked almost-subconsciously over the thick scar on his chest.

And _'recently_' meant in the past week or so.

But Harry didn't comment – he had his own little quirks, born of seven years of war. He always kept one hand near his wand, still. It hadn't helped Ron, though, he reflected darkly.

He nodded. "A bit, I guess," he admitted.

Ron raised his eyebrows. "What happened to Mr. I-fought-You-Know-Who-so-you-don't-scare-me?" he questioned.

"That's _you_," Harry shot back. "This is a bunch of people I don't even _know._"

The red-head patted his friend on the shoulder. "Knock 'em dead," he said quietly. "I'm right behind you, mate."

"You sure you want to do that?" Harry asked. "I mean, what's it got you so far? Seven years of trouble, more hurt and heartache than I can count and a rapidly-approaching deadline."

"Literally!" Ron added in a dry voice.

"Ron…"

"Harry." Ron held his gaze. "You said seven years of trouble, and that's true. But you didn't take into account that those seven years might also have been the best years of my life."

"How can you say that?"

"Because it's true?" Ron proposed.

"You lost your brother!" Harry exclaimed.

The faintest hint of a nostalgic smile drifted across the red-head's lips. "He died, Harry. But that doesn't mean he's lost." There was scepticism in Harry's gaze. "C'mon!" Ron cajoled. "You know better than anyone that being dead doesn't mean you're gone forever." The red-head reached over and touched his friend's shoulder. "I'm staying with you, mate," he said softly.

"Harry smiled sadly. "I hope you don't regret it."

"_You _might regret it," Ron said in an unasked-for answer. "I know I won't." Lightly, he shoved Harry in the centre of his back, sending the green-eyed boy stumbling forward. "Come on, mate," he continued softly. "They're waiting for the great Harry Potter."

Harry groaned. "Don't remind me."

Ron just laughed, and guided him towards the entrance to the Hog's Head. They paused just outside the door, and the red-head turned to Harry. "One thing I don't get," he began. "The Slytherins. Why?"

Harry paused for a moment. "Because we have to stop judging people by house," he said finally. "Not everyone in Slytherin is evil, just as not everyone in the other houses are good. Every Hogwarts student deserves a chance to defend themselves, no matter which dormitory they sleep in." He looked down. "If we exclude the Slytherins solely because of which house the Sorting Hat put them in, we're just as bad as Voldemort."

Ron sighed. "I guess you're right," he admitted. "As usual. Although you've certainly changed your mind about Snape."

Harry gave Ron a hard look. "With good reason."

Ron held up his hands. "I know, I know," he defended. He smirked. "Still, if you name one of your kids after him, I will not be responsible for my actions." He shook his head.

Harry snorted. "What, Severus Potter? Yeah, _that'd _go down well."

Ron stretched languidly. "Knowing you, you'd probably name the poor kid after Dumbledore as well."

"_Albus _Severus Potter?" Harry laughed. "I don't think I could be _quite_ that cruel to a kid."

"Sure," Ron said slowly.

Harry rolled his eyes. "We're getting a bit off-point here, aren't we?"

"True." Ron smiled softly. "Go on then," he said, gesturing to the door. "Go be a hero. Go change the world."

The two more-than-boys shared a last look, and then Harry pushed the door open.

The chatter inside quieted immediately as the pair stepped inside, and Harry let the tiniest smile slip across his features. The room was full – Hogwarts students were perched on stools and chairs and even the bar, all watching him expectantly. Aberforth was lounging towards the back, and Harry nodded to him. The man nodded back, and slipped out of the room.

There had to be at least a hundred people crammed into this low-ceilinged room, but yet there was still a tiny area unoccupied – Hermione stood there, waiting for the two boys to join her. They moved over to her in complete quiet, and she greeted them softly.

"How many?" Harry asked softly.

Hermione smiled. "A hundred and three," she replied. "I hope the Room of Requirement'll fit everyone in."

Ron laughed softly, and Hermione smiled at him. Harry felt warmth surge through him at the sight of their joined hands, and he kept the warmth inside him as he turned to face the collected students.

"This is not a club," he said shortly. "This is not a club, or a place to socialise, or somewhere to have fun. Dumbledore's Army is not just something to do for a laugh or a bet – in joining us, you may well be called upon to fight, and put your life on the line in the defence of those who cannot defend themselves. Anyone who is not prepared to follow those rules will leave. Now."

Silence was thick in the air.

Harry swept his gaze over the mass of students. This weekend had been swung around with a chill bite, and so the majority had house scarves twisted around their necks. As he had expected, most were Gryffindors – the red-and-gold house colours blazed out from at least a third of the assembled. Black-and-yellow and blue-and-gold were present in abundance too, but what really surprised Harry was the thick streak of green-and-silver scarves.

_Slytherin has outdone itself, _he thought. _Riddle would be ashamed. _

And out of all of those hundred and three students, from different houses with different families and blood statuses, ranging from third years to seventh years, no one moved.

Harry smiled. "Good." He glanced back, at Ron, as if for confirmation. The red-head knew what he was about to say, and he nodded.

_Go on, _the movement said. _They need to know. _

"I'm guessing," Harry said, "that some of you are wondering exactly why the DA is still open for business. Voldemort is gone, and maybe the danger is gone. Am I right?"

There were a few reluctant nods, scattered throughout his audience.

Harry sighed. "The truth is," he continued, "danger is never completely gone. We made the mistake of thinking that this year was going to be safe – safe and easy." He paused.

_Phil was on his feet already, hair messed and falling over his face. An angry fire burnt in his blue eyes, but it wasn't his murderous expression which froze Harry in place. Phil's fingers were intertwined in flaming red hair, dragging Ron Weasley's head up as the injured boy knelt on the cold floor, his body slumped, still half-unconscious._

"We were wrong, and it has cost us more than any of you can imagine," Harry said softly. "Because we believed we would be safe at Hogwarts," he continued, "we dropped our guard." He paused, and the silence was full of expectation. His voice was low and fast as he spoke again. "As a result, Ron Weasley has less than three months left to live."

A shocked murmur swept through the room, and Harry found himself no longer the centre of attention. He turned to Ron, his gaze full of apology, but the red-head just shrugged. "It's not like people won't start noticing me changing pretty damn soon," he commented. "Better we set the rumour mill straight now, before we get people thinking I'm either evil or pregnant." Harry saw Hermione's fingers tighten around Ron's, and he didn't miss the quiver that ran up his red-headed best friend's arm.

Harry didn't smile. "If you're sure."

"It's done now," Ron pointed out.

Harry nodded. He flashed his two best friends a smile, and turned back. "That's not all," he spoke again, his voice carrying over the sudden noise in the room. Quiet was restored, and he kept going. "The teachers are hiding something," he said. "Evil is able to get into the school without being noticed. And, as always, there is something very strange about the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. So this is us. Teaching you how not to make the mistakes that we did."

"Be grateful," Ron added in a muttered voice.

Harry smiled. Ron's inappropriate sense of humour certainly hadn't been affected by the events of the past few weeks. "You come when we call," he said finally. "We have our own way to contact you – no more banners, I'm afraid. And if _anyone _reports anything about the DA to any teacher…"

He left the sentence hanging, but his meaning was clear.

And then he smiled. It was a genuine smile – full of hope and love. "Welcome to Dumbledore's Army."

---------

"How did she take it?" Hermione asked softly.

Their first DA meeting was over, and students, buzzed with anticipation and excitement, had flooded out of the Hog's Head to spend the rest of their Hogsmeade visit in Honeydukes and Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Harry and Ginny had headed to the latter straight away—Ginny wanted to see George—but Ron and Hermione had wandered away. In fact, after walking in silence for a while they'd headed for the Shrieking Shack, having come to a silence agreement to return to Hogwarts.

They were both tired, and they just wanted to sleep.

They were walking hand-in-hand up to the castle when Hermione finally spoke, breaking the comfortable silence that had rested between them.

Ron looked down, studying the autumn leaves beneath his feet. "She was scared," he said softly. "And she didn't want me to come back here."

"But you did," Hermione observed softly.

"You and Harry are here, aren't you? I'm not just gonna leave you."

Hermione pulled him to a halt, and forced him to face her. "Ron…" She bit her lip lightly, and looked up at him with so much emotion swirling in her brown eyes that he was caught. "Ron, you don't have to be strong with me," she said softly. "I've told you that." She laid her palm flat against his chest, over his heart. "You don't have to hide what you're feeling."

He smiled; an emotionless movement. "Yes I do," he whispered. "Because if I let it out I'll go mad. I'll be so terrified that I won't be able to move." He took her face in his hands, letting his thumbs brush the edges of her lips. "Hermione, this isn't just some accident that'll be easily fixed," he said softly. "I'm going to die." His voice caught, and a single tear slid down his cheek.

"You're not," Hermione countered gently. "I don't care what Madam Pomfrey or all the Healers in St Mungos say – I will _not _let you die."

Ron smiled. Once more, he tangled his fingers in hers and began to walk again. "I hope it's that simple," he replied as they slipped inside.

Hermione unwound the Gryffindor scarf from around her neck with her free hand, letting it trail along the ground as they walked. "I know it is," she replied firmly.

"Cocky?"

"Confident." She smiled. "Love is a powerful thing, Ron. Don't lose faith."

"You sound like Dumbledore."

"Old and dead?" Hermione did her best to sound affronted.

He was smiling as he glanced over at her. "Wise and a hell of a lot smarter than me."

"True."

The pair of them wandered back up to Gryffindor Tower. The castle was quiet—most people were either braving the cold down in Hogsmeade or securely entrenched in the library or one of the house common rooms—so Hermione and Ron were left to themselves.

The Fat Lady seemed to be half-asleep when they reached her portrait, and her portrait swung open as soon as Hermione gave the password. Ron suppressed a chuckle as she followed her inside.

Neither of them noticed the movement of the air behind them. They were too caught up in each other to care.

Ron tugged lightly on Hermione's hand, guiding her up the stairs to the boys' dormitories with him. She resisted slightly, but only slightly. "Ron, these are the _boys'_ rooms," he pointed out. "I'm not a boy."

"There's not going to be anyone else in there, is there?" Ron answered. "Harry and Ginny'll be ages. We don't have to worry about them."

"Not my point."

"My point."

She sighed as he pushed open the door to the room he shared with Harry and pulled her inside. "You're dreadful."

He smiled the lopsided grin she loved so much. "I'm a Weasley."

"Percy's not dreadful," Hermione shot back as Ron sat down on the edge of his bed, pulling to stand between his legs.

"Percy attacked his boss."

"That was different."

Ron was smiling as they bickered. "Hermione, Hermione…" He sighed, and linked his arms around her waist. From the position they were in, she was taller than him, and he looked up at her with adoration in his eyes. "Why did it take me seven years to work up the courage to ask you out?" he murmured, leaning forward to press his lips to the pulse in her neck.

His lips curved against her skin as he heard her gasp, and felt her tilt her head back. "As I remember," she managed hoarsely, "I was the one who made the first move." As his teeth made their impression on her soft flesh, she groaned. "Although kissing you in the middle of a battle wasn't quite what I had in mind."

"Details, details…" he murmured.

She laughed, and wound her fingers through his hair, pulling his head up. "The details are everything," was all she managed before he kissed her with a laugh on his lips, and she pushed him backwards onto his bed.

The air moved.

---------

The sky was darkening by the time Harry and Ginny returned to Gryffindor Tower. At the foot of the staircases that led to their separate dormitories, Harry squeezed her hand and lightly kissed her. He grinned as he pulled away. "What's the bet that I find Ron and Hermione upstairs?"

Ginny laughed. "Pretty high, I'd guess," she answered, before she dragged him back down for another, deeper kiss.

When she released him, she laughed, and pushed him backwards towards the boys' staircase. "Say hi to Hermione for me," she said with a giggle, and slipped off to her own room.

Harry smiled as he ascended the stairs. He paused just outside his and Ron's door, and shook his head. _It's like the first day of term all over again, _he mused.

Preparing himself for the worst, with that thought still in mind, he silently pushed the door open and peered around the corner.

"_Ron!" _

The room was a mess. Clothes were scattered everywhere, Harry's wardrobe was on its side and one of the posts of Ron's bed was cracked right down the centre. The blanket that Ron had thrown carelessly over his half-made bed this morning was in shreds.

And Ron himself… The red-head was lying flat on his back, shirtless and half-conscious. There was a ferocious bruise developing on his cheek, and his limbs were splayed out across the floor.

Harry crashed to his knees beside his friend. He could scarcely breathe – looping across Ron's torso, drying a rusty red, were two words, written in blood. A quick glance over Ron showed that he wasn't bleeding, and Harry's stomach twisted. He reached out one quavering hand, and gently touched the bloody letters transcribed on his friend in a meticulously neat hand. _Mine now. _

"Ron?" he asked, his voice shaking as he gripped his best friend's shoulder.

The red-head's eyes snapped open. His hand closed around Harry's wrist with such force that it almost hurt – he stared up into Harry's startled green eyes.

"She took her," he rasped, fear and grief twisting through his grating voice. _"That bitch took Hermione."_

---------


	15. Alaea

Disclaimer etc.: see Prologue.

Okay, this chapter was an absolute _bugger _to write. Seriously. Which is why it took nearly two weeks to get finished, and I'm _still _not entirely happy with it. Damn you, Danny Phantom. Bloody cartoons.

Anyway... Thanks to my blessed reviewers: **Why Do U want to Know**, **Dwindlingcandle**, **cmanuk**, **Dreamer758**, **MBP**, **rileyonline**, **Gene Kelly**, **charma10**, **sweetiepie1019**, **weasleyismyprince**, **munchkin1991**, **RonWeasleyismiking**, **twouble**, **((WishIWasJKR))**, **keske**, **Little Miss Tranquility**, **Ginny Guerra**, **carowla weasley**, **silent seabreeze**, **Woollongong Shimmy**, **luvyabunches63**, **James Beston**, **Kimmilein**, **Autumn Skys**, **xoxoBlackOwl**, **the-missing-arm-of-krum**, **mortitia3**, **scorpiagirl93**, **bloomsgirl**, **-total-bookworm-**, **FreeHugsxx3**, **ncis-lady**, **GoodMorningCampers**, **UberFlump.**, **Yay cliffies!**, **Evelyn Granger**, **iamsheena**, **ShatteredTruth**, **Mione-Girl.x**, **aweirdoperson**, **crashing-xx**, **everyone hates sarah.. **(lovely, Louise, really...),** domslove **and **Ehlonna**. I love you all muchly! Although I'm not gonna apologise for the cliffhanger... :D

And, in this upcoming chapter, prepare yourself for some more insight into "bitey-lady" (cough, xoxoBlackOwl, cough)...

R&R is blessed to the Muse and will hopefully help England in the final tomorrow (-crosses fingers-), and enjoy!

To Continue 

­_14 - Alaea _

She was cold.

Of course, she'd been cold before—freezing, in fact—but never had she felt quite such numbing cold as she did now. She wasn't even shivering: her body had forgotten how. And, as far as she could tell, her mind had forgotten how to think, too – she was a blank slate, wiped clean by the blanket of cold wrapped around her shoulders.

But, then again, she always felt like that. This was her: all instinct and urge, no thought; so full of the chill of the world that sometimes—only sometimes—she was forced to just shut down and let someone else take over.

Now, however, as she stood over the fallen and vulnerable body of her victim, was not one of those times. This was her: in control.

The girl at her feet stirred. A soft mumble slipped free from her lips, and her dark eyes began to flicker open. She made a sound of confusion, and then looked up.

It wasn't long before the confusion in her brown eyes was replaced by overwhelming fear.

---------

There was still blood on his chest as he raced through the corridors of the castle. He was barefoot, and the chill in the stones rippled up through the soles of his feet. He was cold, but he ignored it. He had to get her back. He needed her.

—_she's kissing him and in his arms, but then she's screaming and he's crashing to the ground with the image of the terror in her face engraved on his mind—_

The door to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom crashed open. He ignored Harry's voice from behind him and strode in, fury blazing from every line of his aching body. Eva was stood at the window, looking out over the grounds, and she turned her pale face towards them. Amusement was scrawled across her features, and she began to speak, but he didn't care.

She was slammed up against the wall, eyes wide with shock, his hands at her throat.

"Where is she?" he bit off.

Red lips parted, gasping for breath, the teacher could only shake her head, gaze fixed on him.

"Ron, damnit!" He heard Harry's voice again, and felt his friend's hands on his arms, dragging him away from the pale woman. "Let her go!"

There was red seeping in at the corners of his vision. Normally he would have paused, taken a step back and calmed himself, but now, even if he could have done that, he wouldn't have. He rounded on Harry. "It was her," he spat, voice low. "She took her."

"Ron, she's a teacher," Harry said softly, his hand flat against his friend's chest, but there was doubt in his voice.

"And?" He nearly hissed the word. "Harry, I saw her."

"There are better ways than violence."

He screwed his eyes shut, and fought the grief. _—there's fear in her eyes and he reaches for her, but he's too weak and too far away and she's torn from him— _"I can't do it," he whispered. "I need her."

He felt Harry's hand on his shoulder. "Stay here," his best friend said softly.

---------

Ron was behind him now, his shoulders hunched and fists clenched. He closed his mind to the soft sounds of sorrow the red-head was making – grieving was not something that he wanted to hear. Not now.

The pale woman—Professor Eva, their new teacher—was staring in shock at the pair of them. Every time he had met her up to this point she had been tall, powerful and mysterious, but now she was just another human being – just another human being shocked into silence.

His fingers twitched around the wand in his hand.

"Did you take her?" he said softly.

"Who?"

Ron made the tiniest of choking sounds, but Harry didn't move. "Hermione," was all the answer that he gave, and he had to fight to keep his own voice from breaking as he said her name.

—"_That bitch took Hermione."—_

"Hermione Granger?" Eva frowned, confused. "I did not touch her. Why would I?"

"You tell us," Ron ground out. Harry finally glanced back, only to come up against the bright blue glare of Ron's startlingly-dry eyes. There were stark tear-tracks etched down his freckled cheeks, but the red-head was still on his feet. Blue bored into green, and something intangible passed between them – an agreement of sorts.

_Whatever it takes. _

They turned, and the pale woman was met with two faces of stone. "I have not touched her!" she protested.

"Like hell."

Harry watched as, finally, she seemed to pull herself back on track, and that inscrutable mask dropped back into place. Something twisted in his stomach—something that felt almost like belief in this strange woman—but he pushed it down.

_Trust Ron. You've already made the mistake of trusting someone else over him once, so trust him now. He wouldn't lie. _

"I am a teacher here," Eva shot back, red-nails fingers curling around her narrow hips. "I would not touch a student."

"Just 'cause you're a teacher doesn't mean you're good," Harry commented, arms crossed.

Ron snorted. "That, we found out the hard way," he muttered, and Harry bit back a grin.

_Keep smiling, Ron. Don't break. You might need her, but I need you to help me find her. God, I hope you know that. _

As if from nowhere, a pale and slender wand appeared in Eva's hand, and Harry felt his muscles tense. "I am going to have to ask you two boys to leave," she said softly. "I will not stand here and be insulted, and you can rest assured that this will be reported to Professor McGonagall."

The black-haired boy's fingers were abruptly sweaty around his own holly wand.

—_his vision is hazy, but he's not so out of it that he doesn't feel the pain of teeth sinking into the flesh of his neck, and he tries to cry out but there's a hand over his mouth, and he feels sick as blood runs down his neck to pool on the floor—_

He blinked, and his fingers strayed to the side of his neck.

"Harry?"

He glanced sideways, over at Ron. "Bite marks," he managed.

Ron smiled smugly, but the pain that had lingered in his gaze ever since Harry had found him sprawled in their dorm was still there. "Told you."

Harry looked away from Ron, and back at Eva – she was stood tall beside her desk, while the two boys had picked a spot between the two long rows of desks, in the aisle. They were lower down than she was, and he supposed that that should have made him feel vulnerable, but he felt anything but as he looked into her eyes and saw _fear_. Adrenaline thrummed through him.

"We're not stupid," he said softly. "If we leave before we've had every single one of our questions answered to our satisfaction then the whole school finds out exactly what it is you do with you free time."

"And who will they believe?" Eva asked. She was trying to regain her standing, regain her confidence and protection, but she wasn't quite managing. "A teacher, or a _boy_?"

"A teacher, or _Harry Potter_," Ron corrected softly. "And that's a bigger difference than you know."

---------

Before the last few months, Hermione had always hated being naked unless it was absolutely necessary.

She wasn't entirely sure why, but she always felt vulnerable and weak whenever she wasn't protected beneath a layer or two of wool and cotton. When added to the fact that she had never been particularly proud of her body, that strange feeling morphed into an illogical dislike of her own nudity.

Predictably, over the past few months Ron had been doing his level best to relieve her of that notion, but still every time she saw and touched the pale scars that crisscrossed her legs and stomach she cringed. She knew that they didn't really signify anything—the worst of them came from a poorly-aimed curse during the Battle—but that didn't stop her hating them. She'd tried to explain this to Ron, but he'd never quite understood.

Well, not until his own flesh had been irrevocably scored by the vicious spell of a malevolent wizard. He was beginning to understand, and for that she was thankful.

They were both scarred—both battered and bruised by their loyalty to Harry Potter—but they were both mending, albeit slowly.

But now, as she lay naked in the darkness, wrists shackled and ankles bound, with the emaciated figure of her tormentor lurking somewhere near in the black, she began to doubt whether she would ever be completely whole again. The cold that surrounded her pulled her skin into goosebumps, and she shivered uncontrollably. The air smelt of blood.

Hermione closed her eyes. She fought back a sob of fear and pain, and tried to remember Ron – his smile, his laugh, his smell; how his skin felt under her hands as he held her in his arms; the feel of his lips as they kissed.

But the darkness was everywhere—around her and beside her and within her—and she couldn't see him.

_Ron… _

There was a soft laugh from the shadows, and she was suddenly alert. "Welcome back."

She tried to speak, but heard nothing.

"You want him?"

_Of course! _

A smile – she couldn't see it, but she felt it as if it was tracing over her bare flesh. "Of course you do," the voice purred, and she felt a chill grasp her heart. "Young love, after all. It'll never last."

Confusion swept through her.

"At least, not if I have anything to do with it."

And that chill around her heart got just a little bit colder.

---------

"I am not lying to you," the pale woman said softly – her voice was loud in the quiet of the classroom. "I would not, considering…" She paused, and her gaze shifted briefly to Ron. "I would not harm a student at this school."

"You've already harmed a student at this school!" Ron exclaimed.

"I have told you, Weasley," she spoke over him, anger creasing her forehead, "that I did _not _take her!"

"Like _hell _you didn't!" And then Ron was moving, his patience worn far to thin to be of any use in holding him back. Inside of three paces he was upon her, and his hands shoved her back down onto her own desk. Fury burnt in his blue eyes. He was tired and hurt, and brimming with confusion and anger.

_I need Hermione back. Now. _

"What the hell did you do with her?" he growled.

"I did _nothing_," she spat.

His vision fuzzed with anger and grief. He shook her, pulling her up and then slamming her back down onto the hard wooden surface beneath her. "Don't _lie_ to me, you bi—"

She'd caught him off-guard. While he'd been cursing and swearing, she'd freed her arm and now the slender wand in her grasp was shoved painfully against Ron's temple.

All the breath was sucked out of his throat, and his eyes rolled back in his head.

---------

_He feels the air move around them, and that it when it all goes wrong. Lancing pain ripples through him; white-hot needles stab viciously at his eyes. But his eyes are still open, and he still cries out as the girl he loves is dragged from him – she reaches out to him, but he cannot move. _

_The pain overwhelms him. _

_But his eyes stay open. _

_It's her – the strange, pale professor who has turned their lives upside-down and inside-out. And her hands are on Hermione: beautiful Hermione, whose body is limp and unresponsive. _

Let her go! _he screams. But it's a scream inside his head, so no one but him hears it. _

_Pain throbs in his skull, and he feels himself falling. _

_But wait… _

_There is something else: he forces himself to watch again, just for a moment, even though all his body wants to do is to lie down and fall asleep and rest and hide and die. His mind wins the battle. _

_He sees her: the teacher. Eva. But it's not her. She is changing. Becoming… something else. Not some_one. _Some_thing. _She transforms – from slender, elegant, not-quite pretty, to emaciated, intense, horrifically beautiful. Sickly green eyes stare madly out from her skull-like face. _

_And she still has her claw-like hands wrapped around Hermione's neck. _

_He falls._

---------

"Ron!"

Harry lunged forward as Ron collapsed to the ground in a heap, mere seconds after Eva had pressed her wand to his temple. The red-head was shaking, but there was shock in his eyes.

"Ron?" Harry asked, his hand on his friend's shoulder.

"It wasn't her," Ron whispered.

"What?"

"She went into my memories," Ron answered. His voice was soft, almost a whisper, as if he was scared to speak too loud. He shook his head: the moment was fast and jerky. _He's in shock, _Harry's mind whispered to him. "What _was _that?"

"What was what?" Harry asked.

Ron's lips moved soundlessly, just for a moment, and then he looked straight up into Harry's eyes. "Nightmare," he whispered.

As one, the two boys looked up. Eva was stood straight—ramrod straight—and fire burned in her eyes. There was utter fury etched across her pale features was unsettling – incredibly so.

_Why do I get the feeling that I'm not going to like where this is going? _Harry wondered.

"_Alaea_," Selena Eva whispered, and there was fear in her voice.

---------


	16. The Greater Good

Disclaimer etc.: see Prologue.

Thanks to my lovely reviewers: **sweetiepie1019**, **cmanuk**, **DramaQueen567**, **Ginny Guerra**, **MaNdErS20100**,** Kimmilein**, **ThruSnape'sEyes**, **weasleyismyprince**, **Autumn Skys**, **bloomsgirl**, **RonWeasleyismiking**, **Gene Kelly**, **ShatteredTruth**, **Little Miss Tranquility**, **Dreamer758**, **Woollongong Shimmy**, **silent seabreeze**, **-total-bookworm-**, **Dwindlingcandle**, **Ehlonna**, **analternativereview**, **James Beston**, **scorpiagirl93**, **rileyonline**, **Mione-Girl.x**, **FreeHugsxx3**, **louise loves sarah..**, **crashing-xx**, **twouble**, **Evelyn Granger**, **smore4u1**, **LemoN-X-DroP**, **dreamingofaboy **and **beama**. I love you all!

R&R is blessed to the Muse, and enjoy!

EDIT: Thanks to **scorpiagirl93 **for pointing out my dashes had gone walkabout... This is why you shouldn't update two minutes before Robin Hood starts! XD

To Continue

_15 - The Greater Good_

"Potter, back to your dormitory."

Harry blinked as Eva snapped the words out at him – his hands tightened involuntarily in the knitted wool of Ron's jumper. "What?" he asked, voice sharp.

"Get back to your dormitory. Now." There was quiet steel in the pale woman's voice, and she gazed down at the two boys with hard eyes. "You may have been the one to defeat the Dark Lord after years of torment, but that does not mean that you may be here for this."

"For _what_?" Harry exploded.

Eva's gaze slid over him and landed on Ron – the red-head was slumped on the floor, all his energy gone. He was still looking up, though, with fierce passion reflected in his eyes. "If you want Miss Granger back, Potter, you will leave us," Eva said softly.

Harry's lips worked soundlessly. For seven-odd years _he'd_ been the one at the centre of the action; everything had revolved around him – but now, as he felt Ron's muscles tense under his hands and his mind whirled with confusion, he found himself finally understanding what it was his friends had had to go through during their battle against Voldemort. He didn't have a _clue _what was going on – and he found that he liked the sensation not one bit.

"Harry, go."

Harry jerked. His gaze shot down to Ron, and he frowned down at his best friend. "Ron, what—"

"If you won't listen to her, listen to me," Ron interrupted calmly. "Go back to the dorms and get Ginny. Tell her what's going on. Protect her." He looked up, and Harry could see the fear in his eyes. "But go. Now."

"Ron—"

Ron's blue eyes flashed. "Either you go, or I _make _you go," he ground out quietly. "This isn't about you, Harry. Stop thinking that it is." Harry tried to quell the hurt that welled up in him at that vitriolic statement – maybe it was true. His best friend's blue eyes softened. "Look after my sister, Harry. I'm trusting you with this. Protect her."

Blue and green stared into each other, just a moment longer, and Harry understood. He released Ron's shoulder, and nodded to him, rising to his feet. "Be careful," he warned.

Ron smirked. "When am I not?"

It took all of Harry Potter's strength to walk away from his weakened best friend, leaving him with a woman who could be either friend or enemy. His heart screamed at him to turn back, pull out his wand and hex that damn Selena Eva into a convenient parallel dimension, but he knew that he couldn't. Purely because Ron didn't want it.

The door to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom thudded shut, and Harry's breaths were loud in the silence. For a moment—a fractured instant in time—he stood frozen outside the classroom, palms sweaty and arms shaking. But then he began to run, trainers slapping the stone floors, running, running, running.

The Fat Lady swung open at his snap of the password – there was bewilderment in her painted eyes; this was the second time tonight that she had let running more-than-seventh-years through, but she didn't ask questions. Harry ignored her, and leapt through into the common room. There was immediate silence at his perhaps _overly _dramatic arrival – throwing subtlety to the winds, he seized the shoulder of the nearest Gryffindor girl.

"Go to the seventh-year dormitory and bring Ginny Weasley down," he ordered, oblivious to the shock in the frozen second-year's expression. She bolted away from him like a startled rabbit.

_Protect her. _Ron's voice ran through his mind – calm and soft and full of anguish. Harry understood what Ron meant by those two simple words; he understood the words that Ron would never say.

_Protect her. I couldn't protect Hermione, but you can protect her. Do it for me. _

"Harry?"

Ginny was in her pyjamas, a robe in Gryffindor colours draped around her slender form. She was frowning up at him, one hand extended as if hesitant to touch him. There was concern in her eyes.

That concern was what broke him.

He dragged her into his arms, crushing her to him. He needed to feel her, to know that she was here, to know that she was _safe. _He buried his face in her flaming hair, and his stomach lurched as he remembered Ron.

"Harry, what's wrong?" Her arms were around him and there was fear in her voice.

He let out a shuddering breath, and fought the urge to cry. The attention of the entire common room was on them – this wasn't quite the time to weep. "Hermione's gone," he whispered in her ear.

Her breath hitched. "What?"

Harry screwed his eyes shut so forcefully it almost hurt. "Hermione's gone," he repeated. "Ron's locked in a room with Eva, and I'm so scared, Ginny. I'm so scared."

---------

"You have blood on your chest."

It wasn't a question. Ron remained seated, looking up at Eva. "Yeah."

She crouched down beside him, gaze intent on his face. "Show me," she commanded.

He studied her for a moment, eyes narrowed. The prejudices and thoughts of the past few days flooded back to him—_bite marks! _screamed his mind—and he fought the urge to slam her to the ground and take out all his anger and grief on her not-quite-pretty face. But he didn't – there was something in her eyes that unnerved him and quelled his violent impulses.

_She wants to help, _he realised.

He stripped off his jumper. His skin prickled in the chill air – candles burnt in the dimness, but there was no fire in the grate. It was cold, so he shivered.

Eva's gaze was intent on his chest. He was mildly surprised by her lack of reaction – so far, those few who had caught even the slightest glimpse of the ragged scar that twisted around his chest had been horrified, but she didn't even blink.

"_Mine now_," she echoed.

Ron crossed his arms over his chest. He desperately wanted to scrub away the blood on his chest—to wipe away the evidence that Hermione had been hurt—but something wouldn't let him. A feeling deep inside him; a little voice that whispered softly in the back of his mind. "What does it mean?" he asked tersely.

Eva sat back on her heels, crimson-tipped fingers linking in her lap. "It means you have an admirer, Mister Weasley," she remarked.

"I have a what?"

The pale woman smiled. "And a dangerous one, at that," she added.

Ron's jaw set.

—_she cries his name but he can't get to her and he knows that she's hurting and that she needs him but he can't move and it's hell—_

"Where's Hermione?" he ground out.

She didn't even acknowledge that he had spoken. Slender fingers wrapped around her silvery wand, and she brought her gaze back to the red-head. "Lie down," she ordered.

"Huh?"

"Flat on your back," she instructed. "_Now._"

Slowly, reluctantly, he lay back. He felt ridiculously vulnerable – half naked and locked in a room with a woman that they knew far too little about. _What am I doing? _he wondered, and he felt the first twinges of panic dance in his stomach.

But then Hermione's panicked face surged back to the forefront of his mind, and he knew that this was exactly where he wanted to be.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Blood is powerful," Eva answered distractedly. She batted his left hand away from its protective curled position in front of his chest, and crouched beside him. "It helps, even when it has been spilled." She pressed her wand to his lips, forehead furrowed as she studied the letters on his chest. They itched, and he fought the urge to scratch.

He watched her curiously. "How do you know all this stuff?"

The faintest smile twitched her lips. "Experience," she responded dryly. "Now quiet – I must concentrate."

Ron shivered as the tip of her wand landed softly on his skin. A swift hand traced the letters across his chest, and then Eva whispered a single word.

"_Rejoin." _

The red-head's throat constricted, and he felt wind rushing past his ears, and he vaguely registered that there shouldn't be any wind because he was inside, and then he couldn't quite think any more because he was suddenly so cold that he hurt—

_Darkness surrounds him; darkness and cold. _

_He shivers and wants to wrap his arms around himself, but he can't move. No matter how hard he tries, his muscles refuse to respond. But he can still think, and his mind is whirring. He needs to get out of here; he needs to find the others before that voice comes back—_

_Ron pauses. _What voice? _he ponders. _

_Much to his confusion, he hears a gasp, but not a gasp that echoes in the darkness. A gasp inside his own mind. _Ron? _a voice whispers; a voice full of shock and hope. _

_He freezes. _Hermione?

_There is a sob of relief. _I thought I'd never see you again…

_He can feel her emotions washing through him as if they were his own, and his stomach jolts. _I'm in your head.

Of course you are! _Hermione answers, as if it was obvious. _How else could you be here?!

_Once more, he fights the urge to feel jealous at her intelligence, and once more, as ever, he reminds himself that she's the smart one, Harry's the brave one, and he's the sidekick. _

Where are we? _he asks._

I wish I knew, _she whispers. _It's dark, and I can't see, and I'm cold, and I need you, and please, Ron, please rescue me…

_Fear shoots through him as she whimpers. Hermione doesn't whimper. Hermione is strong. This is wrong. She needs him – he must save her. _It's okay, _he whispers back. _Me and Harry – we'll find you. We'll get you out. I promise.

Please be quick, _she whispers to him, and then he feels the cold lessen. _

_Confusion sweeps through him. His body is beginning to feel warm again, but he's still connected to Hermione and he can feel that she's still cold. He tries to speak to her, but he can't, and it's like someone has just flicked a switch, and now he's losing her. _

_He wants to scream her name, but he can't—_

Eva's wand left his chest, and he sat bolt upright, gasping.

There was a tinge of sadness in her eyes as she watched him, and that unnerved him. With his body still shivering from the cold that he knew he couldn't have felt but he did, he forced his gaze to rise to her face. "What was that?" he rasped out, one hand at his throat.

"Blood calls to blood," Eva replied simply. "I have located her."

His heart skipped a beat. "Where is she?" His voice was abruptly hoarse in his throat.

Her expression was troubled. "Danger."

---------

The common room was quiet. Despite Harry's earlier dramatic entrance, most of the Gryffindors had drifted off to bed – it was late.

Harry and Ginny were seated in silence on one of the sofas clustered around the fireplace. No words had passed between them about it, but they had positioned themselves so they had a clear view of the portrait hole. They were waiting for Ron – for him to return with Hermione in his arms and for him to tell them that everything was alright.

When Ron did enter, though, he was alone, and his jumper was disarrayed on his lanky frame.

Harry surged to his feet, and covered the distance to his red-headed friend in five strides. "Where is she?" he asked lowly, his hands gripping Ron's shoulders so tight he knew that it would hurt.

Ron met his gaze. "She's in the forest," he answered.

"Is she hurt?" Harry asked. He didn't want to know the answer, but he knew that he had to ask the question.

The look in Ron's eyes made him wish that he hadn't. "She's terrified," he whispered, and Harry felt his friend's shoulder shake. "Eva did something—I dunno what—but I swear I was in Hermione's head." Ron shook his head, his hands clenched into fists. "She's so scared."

Harry's jaw set. "Then let's go find her."

Ron nodded, and the two shared a look that spoke volumes – theirs was the relationship that needed no words, just glances and loyalty. 'Old war buddies' they'd been dubbed by Neville, as they had helped with the restoration of Hogwarts over the summer – it was a sentiment that had been agreed with by a whole phalanx of others. Luna had been the first, and there had been an understanding in her gaze that had made Harry shiver.

Ron leant just that fraction closer to Harry, and whispered, "Ginny can't come."

Harry paused for a fraction of a second, and then nodded. "It's too dangerous," he agreed.

As one, they turned to face the youngest Weasley. She was still in her pyjamas, and was watching them both, her expression half-fearful and half-quizzical. "Where's Hermione?" she asked, and she looked so open and vulnerable that Harry felt himself fall for her all over again.

"We're going to get her now," Ron answered.

His face was closed, and Ginny noticed. Her own jaw set. "You're going to try and make me stay here," she stated.

"Yeah," Ron replied shortly.

His sister lifted her chin. "Well tough, 'cause I'm going with you," she answered angrily. "Hermione's my friend too."

"It's too dangerous," Harry responded. He was trying to be gentle with her, but he was aware of Ron's growing urgency beside him – they both knew it: Hermione's time could be running out.

"I fought in the Battle, remember." Ginny's eyes flashed. "I'm not a child – you can't pro—"

A slash of crimson light jetted from Ron's wand-tip and impacted straight into the centre of Ginny's chest – she crumpled to the ground in a heap. Harry gaped at his friend – he looked stonily back. "You just Stunned her."

Ron tucked his wand away. "Yeah. I did."

"That bad?" was all Harry could think of to say, and he immediately regretted it.

Ron avoided looking at Harry. He bent down and lifted his sister into his arms – gently, he deposited her on the sofa she'd been sitting on minutes previously with Harry, and looked down at her ruefully. "Sorry," he said to her unconscious form.

Harry joined Ron by Ginny's side, and gently took her limp hand in his. "Was that necessary?" he asked softly.

"We don't have time to argue with her about whether or not she's coming with us," Ron answered levelly. "Right now, Hermione is more important."

"She's your sister, Ron! How can you say that?"

Anger flared in Ron's gaze. "She's not deep in the Forbidden Forest with some homicidal loony!" he hissed back. "She's safe! And, damnit, Hermione is!"

Silence hung between them.

"She told me she needed me," Ron said softly. "I can't let her down. And Ginny was in my way. We've done worse things in the name of the greater good."

"It feels wrong," Harry replied.

"If it didn't, that would make us as bad as You-Know-Who and all the bad guys we've ever beaten," Ron replied.

They were quiet for a moment, staring at each other.

"Then lets go," Harry said, and a truce was reached.

They slipped out of the common room silently, Ron leading the way. Ginny lay sprawled unconscious on the couch, firelight flickering across her face, unaware of the danger her boyfriend and her brother were running headlong into.

---------


	17. Moving Forward, Falling Back

Disclaimer etc.: see Prologue.

Okay, an _additional_ disclaimer: there is a specific flashback in this chapter which is taken out of _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_. I have no ownership of DH or that particular quotation.

And yes, the formatting _is _supposed to be like that! Jeez, I'm writing that a lot lately…

I'm really sorry for not updating in ages! I've got so much stuff on at the moment... It's killing me! Seriously! But anyway... Thanks to my glorious reviewers: **Marian66**, **Autumn Skys**, **Ginny Guerra**, **Kimmilein**, **cmanuk**, **weasleyismyprince**, **LOSTinharrypotter**, **MBP**, **scorpiagirl93**, **tamara72**, **Dwindlingcandle**, **MaNdErS20100**, **Dreamer758**, **keske**, **beama**, **LemoN-X-DroP**, **wasu**, **ShatteredTruth**, **TXGator**, **ThruSnape'sEyes**, **FreeHugsxx3**, **ridiculous 123**, **James Beston**, **twouble**, **rileyonline**, **Evelyn Granger**, **smore4u1**, **crashing-xx**, **sweetiepie1019**, **Crazy-Gurrl-x **and **Lesbian Zog. **Love ya, guys!

Oh, and are there any _Spooks_ fans out there? 'Cause I wrote a _Spooks _fic this week and I was wondering if anyone would be willing to comment... But yeah.

R&R is blessed to the Muse, and enjoy!

To Continue

_16 - Moving Forward, Falling Back_

Eva was waiting for them outside the common room, and Harry skidded to a halt, suspicion and aggression threading through his veins. "Ron—" he started.

"It's okay," Ron interrupted. There was a strange expression scribbled on his expressive features – a mix of trust and fear, apprehension and deep, burning need. "She's with us."

Harry grabbed Ron's arm. "Ron, what—"

The fire in the redhead's eyes stopped Harry in his tracks. "I just Stunned my sister, Harry," Ron hissed. "Don't think for a _second_ I won't do the same to you."

_Hermione. _Her name was never spoken—that would be too painful—but the thought was always there. Ron was desperate.

Harry sighed. "Let's go."

Wordlessly the other nodded.

For a moment, Harry watched his best friend thunder down the stairs, worry running through him. It was to be expected, really, but he didn't want Ron to change. Ron was Ron – consistent and loyal. Maybe things were changing.

_Change isn't necessarily bad, _Harry told himself, but he couldn't quite quiet the niggling voice in his mind that whispered different.

"Worried, Potter?"

He didn't care what Ron said – Harry didn't trust Selena Eva as far as he could throw her. So, he didn't reply. He set off down the stairs after Ron, trainers slapping loud against the stone. Without him quite realising it, his wand made its way into his hand.

Adrenaline coursed through him. _Time to fight. _

_---------_

The trees had closed in above them half an hour ago, and they were still walking. The three of them had ended up in a line – Eva, leading the way, then Ron, then Harry. They walked in silence. Harry's wand hadn't left his hand ever since they'd exited the castle, and his fingers were shaking.

"_That bitch took Hermione."_

Anger and fear, shock and pain. Harry wished he could stop hearing Ron's voice in his head.

Leaves rustled around them, breaking the quiet, and somewhere far off a howl echoed in the night.

_Like a scene out of a horror story, _Harry thought absently. He was switching into autopilot – walking soft, but with his mind detached from his body. It was the fear, he guessed. The fear and the uncertainty.

And then they stopped, arrayed in a messy line at the edge of a gap in the trees.

Harry knew this clearing in the forest – he'd been here more times than he liked to think about: in second year, when Aragog was in residence, and much more recently, during the summer, during that great fight for all that was good and right in the world—

—_he saw the mouth move and a flash of green light, and then everything was gone— _

Eva murmured something, something Harry couldn't understand, and Ron just stood beside him, motionless.

"What is that?" Harry asked, voice breathy and loud in the quiet of the night.

Neither of the other two answered.

Before them, in the centre of the clearing, whirled a dark orb, spun from threads of darkness and despair. It was whipped into a frenzy by the wind, but the leaves on the forest floor around it were still. It was wrong – so wrong that it shouldn't exist, but it did.

"Hermione's in there." Ron's voice was calm – too calm.

Harry felt his heart clench in his chest at the sight and the knowledge, and he felt sick.

On the other side of his redheaded best friend, Selena Eva turned and emptied her stomach into the grass. Harry couldn't quite stop a tiny smirk twitching his lips.

_---------_

"He's coming."

She felt her heart jump in the cold, and she forced her eyes to open – but still, there was only darkness.

"Your young lover-boy. Ron, isn't it?"

_Don't you dare speak his name. _A noise that was suspiciously close to a growl rose up in her throat, but she didn't have the energy to make it last, and so it died away into nothing.

She heard a soft rumble nearby, almost like a purr. "Such a beautiful young man…" And then a sigh. "He's going to try and save you. He's going to try, and he's going to fail, and you are going to die."

Fear shot through her, and abruptly she felt a hand in her hair, dragging her head up. Green eyes blazed at her, and she felt cold steel to her throat.

"And him? I think I'll play with him a little longer."

It was then, in that frozen instant of darkness and green eyes, that Hermione Granger knew she was going to die.

_---------_

His heart ached.

He couldn't help it. He'd tried and tried not to think about why he was doing this, but that was an impossible task. Impulsive, emotional, foolish – all words that had been used to describe him in the past.

_God, I wish I hadn't come back. _

It was there in the back of his mind that if he'd stayed at The Burrow and never returned to Hogwarts to complete his seventh year, then none of this would have happened – Hermione would be safe and well and studying as hard as ever, Harry would be spending the nights with Ginny in his arms, and he himself wouldn't be looking forward to an impending death.

Ron closed his eyes, just for a second. His mind was buzzing.

"What're we going to do?" Harry asked softly.

_Me and Harry – we'll find you. We'll get you out. I promise._

He made a promise.

"We get her out," Ron answered, and stepped forward.

Screams erupted inside his head before he had gone a pace – crazed voices, jabbering and yelling and cursing, in a thousand tongues and a million tones. Pain flooded through him as his mind was overrun. He grabbed at his head, stumbling and nearly dropping to his knees.

On the edge of awareness, he heard a voice scream his name – _Harry, _he blearily thought. His gaze swung around to face his friend, and he saw the black-haired boy being held back by Eva – he had half a mind to thank her.

_Stay out, Harry, _he thought, as if Harry could actually hear him. _Wait. _

For what, he didn't know. But he knew that Harry had to wait, just this once.

Ron turned back and stepped forward again – just one step, as before.

The cries stopped, and there was silence. Again, he stumbled, but this time from confusion. He paused, and looked up. Bright stars shone in the darkened sky between the gaps in the trees, and the sight made him smile, just a little.

_Ron, these are the _boys' _rooms. I'm not a boy._

_There's not going to be anyone else in there, is there? Harry and Ginny'll be ages. We don't have to worry about them._

_Not my point._

_My point. _

He shivered, and looked forward. _I should have listened to her. _

And he walked forward. This time, he didn't stop.

He kept going.

The wind ripped at him, and screams tore at his psyche – he kept going. Hermione was hurting and bleeding and crying, and he didn't know how he knew but he knew it was true.

—_it's the feel of her lips on his that keeps him going, her kiss and her touch and the memory of her laugh—_

He didn't even notice he was doing it to begin with, but it began to grind out her name with every step he took – _"Hermione. Hermione. Hermione._"

Finally, after what felt like hours but must have been only minutes, he stood before the sphere of darkness. Ron was weary – right at that moment, he wanted to lie down at fall asleep on the leafy ground, but he knew that he couldn't.

Fuzzy outlines, deep in the darkness. One standing, one lying.

_Hermione. _

Shoulders squared, Ron plunged forward into the darkness.

Cold scythed through him, and he screamed.

_---------_

Ron vanished.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Eva smiling softly, and he rounded on her. "What is it?" he demanded, patience worn thin.

"I did not expect him to make it that far," Eva admitted readily. "Not without help, at least. Reports I have heard about Ronald Weasley have been…mixed. I did wonder."

Harry felt his lip curl. "Who do you think you are?" he snarled.

She met his gaze levelly. "I think I know much more about evil and darkness than you, Harry Potter," she answered coolly. "And so I think that you should listen to me, despite what you may think."

"You've done nothing but lie to us."

"For your own good."

"Oh, please." Harry felt fire racing through his veins, and anger flooded his body. "We're not children. We've defeated the most powerful dark wizard ever to live, and you think you have to right to keep things from us 'for our own good'?"

"Voldemort was powerful, and he was evil," Selena Eva said softly. "But that does not mean that he is the worst this world has to offer."

Harry frowned. "What do you mean?" he asked slowly. "We're fighting something _worse _than Voldemort now?"

Eva looked out again at the spinning orb, and there was worry in her gaze. "Not worse," she corrected. "And not stronger. But far, far more dangerous."

"Why did you let Ron go, then, if you know all this?"

"He is the distraction."

"_What?_" Incredulous, Harry stared at her.

Eva regarded him levelly. "There is no chance of you or I entering without the distraction that Mister Weasley has provided," she said. "I let him go because I knew that it was necessary. In war, Potter, we have to make sacrifices."

_Sacrifices? _

She seemed to know exactly what he was thinking, and answered him before he could even start to pose the question. "And yes. He may well die."

"You're a cold-hearted bitch."

"It has been said."

"How do we get in?" he demanded.

"You cannot."

"You're lying."

"I am not."

"I don't believe you."

She smiled, although there was no emotion behind the gesture. "I know."

He turned away, and stared at the sphere in the centre of the clearing. "We can't get in on foot," he murmured, thinking out loud. "It's defended on all sides…" Memories flooded back to him—dragon fire and golden eggs—and abruptly he grinned. He glanced back at Eva. "Do you think it's defended around the top?" he asked.

She looked at him curiously. "I have no idea. Why?"

"It's my experience that people rarely look up," Harry said. He flicked out his wand in the direction of the castle, and said clearly into the night, "_Accio Firebolt._"

"Your broom." There was a question in her gaze. "Why?"

Harry grinned – an expression full of humour and fear. "I've done it before."

_---------_

_you came. _Hermione was laid on the ground, naked and nude. Chains encircled her limbs.

"Of course I came!" Ron answered, half indignant at her assumption.

_i thought you wouldn't. she said you wouldn't. _Hermione looked up at him, eyes wide and lips unmoving.

"You should trust me, then." Ron knelt down. "Can you move?"

_no. _He didn't doubt her.

Ron reached out to her, but his hand froze bare centimetres from her skin. He tried to force his fingers forward, but he couldn't move – it was as if there was some invisible barrier between her and him.

"Hermione?" he asked.

There were tears in her eyes. _you can't get me out, can you? _

His gut twisted. "Of course I can," he rebutted, trying desperately to keep his voice calm and soft. "I'm a stubborn, obstinate Weasley, remember?"

She just watched him.

Ron retrieved his wand from the pocket of his jeans. "_Diffindo,_" he murmured softly. There was no effect, and he still couldn't get through. "_Defodio._" Still nothing, and he swore.

Hermione was smiling sadly. _i taught you that one. _

Ron sighed, and pressed his palm flat against the invisible barrier between them. It was like there was a pane of glass separating them – a pane of glass that he couldn't break, no matter what he tried. "You taught me more than that," he replied.

_always the smart one? _

"The brilliant one," Ron corrected.

_you have to leave. _

Ron laughed shortly. "I'm not leaving you."

_you have to. she's here. _

"Well, I can take 'her' on, whoever she is," Ron blustered.

Hermione smiled, just a little. _no you can't. she's too much for you. for you, for me, for harry, for anyone. there's nothing you can do to help me. _

"Don't talk like that." It wasn't a request – he was commanding her to do this, and that felt strange. "Don't you dare talk like that."

_it's the truth, ron. please. run. _

"You said you needed me." His voice was cracking.

Pain flickered in her gaze. _i've never needed you more. _

He laughed, astonished. "And you expect me to go after you've just said that?!" He struck at the air with his fist – a sharp jolt raced through him, and he winced. "Damnit, Hermione, _don't give up!_" Desperation crept into his voice.

Her gaze was fixed on his face. _i think i already have. _

And with that, she faded away into nothing.

Shock. Fear. He slammed his hand down against the barrier – the invisible barrier that was no longer there. Ron fell forward onto his hands and knees. Frantically he felt at the earth, trying to find her, trying to touch her.

"_Hermione!_"

But she was gone.

And then he was upright, his feet hanging a metre from the ground, and he couldn't move. A scream tore at his lungs, and he writhed as agony thrummed through him.

There was a laugh from before him, and he forced his eyes to open. A girl—haggard and pale, with burning green eyes—stared up at him, wreathed in shadow. "It's always interesting to see your fears," she said softly, and her voice sounded like the hiss of a snake.

Ron tried to speak, but his throat was hoarse from screaming and he couldn't quite force himself to make a sound.

"And you're such a lovesick boy," the girl spoke again, reaching up to touch her palm to his chest. Cold seared through his jumper to his scarred chest, and a rasping cry was drawn from his lungs. "Full of pain and lust and love. And you want to find her _so badly_…"

Ron wheezed, and finally managed to speak. "Where is she?" he husked.

The girl smiled, and madness gleamed in her eyes. "Nearby."

"_Where?_"

"Patience. We've got all night." Her fingers wound into the front of his jumper, and he felt her begin to drag it downwards. His body didn't move, and he felt the wool begin to cut into his back – discomfort surged through him, until the material tore away. It was dropped to the ground.

The girl smiled, and ran her fingertips over his scar – he tried to pull away, but couldn't move. "It's a pity that such a pretty body had to be tainted like this," she told him. "But necessary. Why couldn't you just play along and _die_?"

"Go to hell."

"No, Ron. That's where I'm going to take you."

_---------_


	18. Secrets Among Conspirators

Disclaimer etc.: see Prologue.

Oh my _God_, it's starting to come together. Seventeen chapters in, and I finally know where I'm going!

Sort of. Maybe.

Thanks to my reviewers: **Ginny Guerra**, **cmanuk**, **twouble**, **ridiculous 123**, **James Beston**, **aweirdoperson**, **ShatteredTruth**, **Sarcalogos**, **smore4u1**, **tamara72**, **connieewing**, **sweetiepie1019**, **hogwartsgirl52**, **Dreamer758**, **bloomsgirl**, **keske**, **ron.w rules**, **Kimmilein**, **RonWeasleyismiking**, **TXGator**, **rileyonline**, **Gene Kelly**, **Evelyn Granger**, **scorpiagirl93**, **weasleyismyprince**, **MaNdErS20100**, **-total-bookworm-**, **ThruSnape'sEyes**, **beama**, **Dwindlingcandle**, **ncis-lady** and **lynnmichelle**. -hugs- You have no idea how much I love you all!

And a quick note to **pinkperfume**, 'cause I couldn't reply to you through the site/an e-mail address:

Love, I'm a complete and utter Classics _geek_. If I wrote something grammatically incorrect in Latin, then there's a damn good reason for it. Not saying anything else (very public place, here!), but if you want to know more just contact me.

R&R is blessed to the Muse, and enjoy!

To Continue

_17 - Secrets Among Conspirators_

At this time of night, Hogwarts was quiet.

The students were happily tucked away in their dormitories, curled up under thick blankets, hiding from the chill that hung in the air – no laughter rang in the halls; and no screams either, as Peeves dive-bombed the few unfortunates not quite fast enough to keep up with the pack. That was the day, and this was the night.

The night was quiet, subdued. Menacing, even, if you listened to it the right way.

Professor McGonagall was standing quietly in the Great Hall, and her thoughtful gaze was fixed on the ever-changing ceiling above her head. The fiery trail of a shooting star traced across the enchanted surface, and she watched it go. Fleeting, silent. Beautiful all the same.

The Transfiguration professor sighed, and lowered her gaze. "It's quite possibly your fault, Sybill, that Ronald Weasley is dying," she said calmly.

Hair frizzier than normal, SybillTrelawney stared back. She didn't speak.

"You said that you could make that spell harmless," McGonagall continued. At Trelawney's steady silence, she suddenly snapped, eyes blazing. "_Harmless!_"

Her shrill tone echoed around the cavernous space, and Trelawney looked down.

"And you don't even care." McGonagall stopped, and silence reigned.

Slowly, Trelawney raised her head. Hair hung over her face in crinkled whirls, but her eyes were clear, framed by owlish glasses. "I wrote what I saw," she answered softly, unusually sober. "The consequences are not due to me."

"If Weasley and Granger had just _dropped _the topic, then everything would be fine." McGonagall paused, and glanced upwards. Stars twinkled overhead, but she was still angry. Furious, even. "Do you know how hard it was for the Ministry to change those books? _One _spell, twisted backwards, and you've destroyed months of work."

"It was an accident—"

"I don't care," McGonagall cut across the Divination professor. "Three months – less than, really, by now. That poor boy."

"Death is not in his future," Trelawney murmured, hands clasped as if in prayer.

"Spare me the omens," McGonagall barked. "Work with the Ministry. Find a way to fix this, and find a way to save Ronald Weasley."

"What if there is no way to amend the events of the past?"

McGonagall's face closed. "Then there will be more than your position at this faculty on the line, _Professor_ Trelawney." The subtle mocking emphasis laid on Trelawney's title seemed to enliven the browbeaten Divination teacher: she railed.

"I was against this from the beginning!" she cried. "The Ministry has already been overcome once – it is not _safe _for the students to co-operate with them." She blinked, owlishly, and McGonagall felt strangely placated by the familiar bewildered expression. "Letting a dangerous criminal into the school was _absurd._"

"It was a decision made by everyone," McGonagall replied stonily. "You are in no position to question it."

"Three months for Ronald, as you said yourself," Trelawney pointed out soberly. "Evidently questioning that foolish decision is quite a sensible thing to do."

"Mistakes were made on both our parts," McGonagall offered. "Perhaps we should stop arguing about who was right and concentrate on fixing the disastrous situation that has been left?"

"Maybe we should."

It didn't escape McGonagall that that was still a 'maybe'. _No matter, _she thought. _It is enough. _

"It is late, and there are lessons to be taught in the morning," Trelawney said smoothly, sliding back into her dreamy state. "We should rest."

Rest was the last thing on Minerva McGonagall's mind, but that was something that she couldn't quite work out how to put into words.

---------

The wind in his hair was such a familiar sensation that he found himself almost falling into it, despite the fear and the pain that welled up in his gut.

Harry swayed in the air, and jolted himself alert once more, appalled at himself. _Hovering on a recently-possessed broomstick, above a vortex of black magic, is _not _a good time to be napping! _he snapped at himself, tightening his stranglehold on his broom. He focused, and directed his gaze downwards.

Staring down at the swirling black, he reflected that he much preferred Quidditch.

_No! _

He had been wrong, after all – the top of this perverse whorl of evil _was _defended, just not by pain and fire.

_Doubt and distraction, _he realised. _That's how it works. _

The realisation didn't help. Pointless thoughts swirled around his mind, and he fought to shake them out. _Ron, _he forced into his head. _Hermione. _

Fiercely, Harry shook his head, sending messy black hair flying. It helped, just a little: he grabbed a slippery handhold on his own mind. Swiftly, with an ease that made him shiver, he shoved himself—his fears and pains and sorrows—into a little box at the back of his mind.

He tucked _Harry Potter _away, and slipped into the role of _The Chosen One. _

_God, I hate that nickname. _

He dropped lower, fingers white-knuckled around the faintly-chipped wood of his broom. Green eyes scanned the seamless sphere, searching for a way in; some way for him to get in and get his friends and get them all far away from this dead clearing.

His trainered feet were battered by a wind he couldn't see.

_There's no way in, _he thought calmly. _No gap; no door; no crack. Nothing. _

_There is always a way in, _a tiny voice whispered at the back of his mind, and it was a voice that sounded like Dumbledore. _You just need to find it. _

Harry hung in the stillness, buffeted by winds and fear.

After an indeterminable instant, in which he swore he heard screams and yells and sobs, a smile curved his lips. _A way in. _

He dropped like a stone, right into the blackness.

---------

Ron knew there had been a reason that he had come into this lightless void, but he couldn't for the life of him remember what it was.

Lips moving soundlessly, he thought about it, mind oddly lucid. There was a name, drifting just out of reach, and he had the funny feeling that if he managed to _grasp _that name then he would have his answer.

But currently he was slightly preoccupied – having nails forcing themselves slowly, slowly through his skin had a mildly detrimental effect on his ability to concentrate. He had been trying not to scream, all this time, but he could feel the animal noise building up in his throat and mouth – building, building, building…

A primordial wail screamed its way around the darkness, and he was mildly shocked that it was him making that noise – it seemed like something a wild beast would keen to the cloud-ridden skies.

_Is that all I am? An animal? _

"Oh no, Ronnie. You're far more than that."

He felt sick. "You," he croaked.

"Me." She withdrew her hand from his bleeding chest, and studied the crimson stains on her nails. Tentatively, she licked a quick lick of the blood – she smiled, surprised.

"Where is she?" Ron pleaded, and as he said the words the name came back. _Hermione. _His stomach jolted.

"I've told you, she's nearby."

"Where?"

The girl gestured expansively. "Around."

"Not bloody helpful."

An enigmatic smile swept across her haggard features. "I know." Her voice was a sibilant hiss, and Ron felt a chill crawl up his spine. Her blazing green eyes remained fixed on his face – her lips were stained red by his blood.

Warm trails wound down his chest. He tried desperately not to think about it.

"Why do you love her?"

The question surprised him. "What?"

"Why do you love her?" The question was repeated with a hint of impatience. "Her intelligence? Her money? Her body?"

Ron was abruptly shocked into silence, and he just stared at the girl, speechless.

She cocked an eyebrow at him, loud in the silence.

"How can you _ask _a question like that?" he finally ground out, astonished. "What are you; some kind of monster?"

Green eyes smiled as they gazed at him, and it terrified him. He realised exactly how stupid his last question was. "You could say that." She laid one hand of stained fingers against her cheek. "So it's true love?"

Ron didn't answer, but she seemed to be expecting that.

"So boring."

"Go to hell."

"Had this conversation."

And then her hand was on his chest again, and her nails tore at already-ripped flesh. Pain flooded through him, overwhelming his senses and sending him into oblivion.

_Hermione. _He clung onto that thought. _You love her. Remember that. _

---------

_Well, that was stupid_, was all the thought that he had time for.

The blackness grabbed at him as soon as he entered it, and it was worse than any Dementor's Kiss. Grief; fear; loss; anger. Incapacitating emotions, slamming into him and leaving him reeling.

_Mum, Dad. Sirius. Lupin, Tonks, Hedwig, Moody, Fred. _

Names, and the faces that the names belonged to. They swirled in his mind, accusing, hateful, terrifying in their magnificence.

_No! Doubt and distraction – remember that. You've got a job to do. _

And then, as if banished by his determination and his lack of terror, the shades vanished from his mind. He crashed to the ground, and his knees buckled. Harry Potter crumpled to his hands and knees, and his head hung – he fought to catch his breath.

"Harry?"

It was the tiniest, weakest remnant of what her voice had once been, but it was her. Harry's head jerked up. "_Hermione!_"

Brown hair matted with blood, pale limbs curled up in a terrified ball, she watched him. Her brown eyes were full of fear. Harry scrambled to her, relief worming its way into his heart. "I thought—" He didn't want to voice what he'd thought.

"She's got Ron," Hermione whispered.

Harry's heart stopped, and the fear flooded back. "What?"

"He was here, and he was trying to get to me, but she took him away." Tears shone in Hermione's eyes. "She's going to kill him."

_In war, Potter, we have to make sacrifices._

Eva's voice filled Harry's head, and he hated it. Determination filled him.

He shrugged off his jacket and wrapped it gently around Hermione's battered shoulders – she clutched tightly at the edges as if it would be taken away from her any minute.

Harry lightly touched her shoulder. "I'll be back soon," he promised. "And I'll bring Ron with me."

"What if—"

"He'll be here." Harry had spoken over her, and where once her brown eyes would have flashed with indignant fire at being interrupted there was only stillness and calmness.

Lifelessness.

_What has happened to her? _

Rising to his feet, Harry drew his wand. He didn't look down at Hermione's battered form – he didn't need to. All he needed was the knowledge that Ron was in trouble.

"_Lumos_," he murmured, and he stepped forward, into the darkness, his guiding light in front of him.

---------

There was someone else nearby.

She stopped, and the only sound was the steady _drip-drip _of blood onto the dark ground. The red-head groaned softly, but she ignored him – someone was going to try and take away her toy; she could just feel it.

Her lips curved upwards in the mockery of a smile. "Potter, Potter, Potter?"

Black hair, green eyes, battered glasses. He stepped forward from the shadows, light shining from his wand. "What?" he snapped back, and she smiled.

"I was wondering how long it would take you to arrive and try and save your friend," she shared, assuming an air of imparting a secret. "We made bets on it." Her lips curved downwards, but she wasn't sad. "I lost."

Potter frowned. " 'We'?" he asked.

She raised her eyebrows. "I have Ron Weasley strung up and bloody, and you want to know about my work arrangements?" she quizzed. "I thought you were supposed to be the good one."

His fingers flexed around his wand. "Let him go."

"No."

"I'll kill you."

She laughed – shrill and high and piercing. "You couldn't if you wanted to."

Riled, he bristled. "I killed Voldemort."

"The Dark Lord's death was not down to _you_," she spat. "You are a _boy. _You could not _touch _him."

"I killed him."

"You were lucky enough to fire a curse at the same time. You did not _kill_ him." Her lip curled.

Angered by Potter's fervent insistence, she dug her fingers deeper into the red-head's chest. She felt him twitch, and a sound of anguish escaped him – she was well aware that he was only half-conscious at best, and that intrigued her. Potter surged forward, just a little, and she held her hand up to halt him. "One step closer and I will kill your friend." She smirked. "Just to show you how death is done."

"You're sick."

"It's been said."

"What do you want?" She could hear the desperation in his voice—the desperation and the powerlessness—and that feeling made her swell inside.

"Many things," she answered. "But right now? _I want Ron Weasley_." She laughed, unable to help herself. "And it's been a long time since I wanted to feel a warm body in that way. He should be honoured."

Potter understood – she could see it in his eyes. "Let him go," he bit off, every word full of loathing and fear.

"I'm not done with him yet."

The green-eyed boy's wand lifted into the air, and its tip was trembling. "Yes, you are."

_He's right. This time, we do not go that far. We agreed. _

"Stay out of this," she hissed, her head jerking to one side. "You _failed_."

_Maybe it's good that I did. _

"Failure is _never _good."

_Let the boy live. _A pause, and she could feel her blond-haired partner's smile. _For now. _

She hissed, but she understood. "Lucky, lucky, lucky, Potter," she growled. "He agrees with you."

She dropped her hand from the red-head's chest, and his body twitched. A flick of her wrist and Ronald Weasley slid gracelessly to the ground; a second, and the blackness began to dissolve. Moonlight began to filter through, and she squinted into it – green eyes lost their brilliance.

A single step and she disappeared along with the blackness.

---------

This was beginning to feel horribly familiar – falling to the ground beside his best friend, panic gripping his heart. Harry hated it, but this time it was different.

_No blood. _

Moments before, Ron's chest had been bloody and broken – now, the skin was unbroken. Even the looping letters had been wiped away. Confusion swept over him, and he reached out to touch his friend's shoulder.

_Please be kind; just this once… _

A cough. The slightest twitch and tremor, and then Ron's blue eyes slid open.

"Oh, thank you," Harry breathed.

"Harry?" Ron choked out, another cough wracking his lungs.

"Yeah, it's me." Harry knew that the danger wasn't over, but he couldn't help but let relief slide through him – Ron was safe, when seconds ago it had been almost certain that he was going to die.

_Not the first time _that's _happened this year, _Harry reflected ruefully.

---------

His throat was burning and his voice was hoarse – he wasn't exactly clueless as to why, either. Screaming, yelling, fighting… Something whimpered softly inside him, but he forced himself to ignore it.

"She gone?" he coughed out.

Harry nodded, and a troubled expression momentarily crossed his face. "Yeah."

"Dead?"

"No."

Ron heaved himself up into a sitting position. There was some part of him that knew he should be hurting, but he wasn't. There was only the memory of pain – the phantom of agony that now seemed more like a nightmare.

"Ron?"

He froze. _Hermione. _

And then he was moving.

Ron knew there had been a reason he had rushed headlong into ridiculous danger without even pausing to tell Harry he was going, and as he gripped Hermione tight in his arms he finally remembered what it was. He felt tears dampening his bare shoulder, and he held her tighter as they shook together. He was startled to feel wet tracks tracing themselves down his cheeks, but he couldn't care less.

She was safe. That was all that mattered.

"I'm so sorry I let her take you," he whispered to her, hearing his voice shake.

Hermione didn't reply, and he realised exactly how vulnerable she was. Slowly, reluctant to let her go even slightly, he drew back, cupping her face in his hands. "Hermione?"

Brown eyes stared back at him. "I'm naked," she whispered, matter-of-factly.

He couldn't help but smile, tears of joy still glistening on his cheeks. "Nothing I haven't seen before," he answered, before leaning forward and kissing her with all he was.

---------

"There is a reason it is called the _Forbidden _Forest, Professor Eva."

Selena Eva stopped as she entered the castle, and turned towards the figure of Professor McGonagall. "I am aware of this."

McGonagall's features were set. "You took students in there. And have apparently _left _them in there. Without supervision!"

Eva's lips twitched wryly. "I took Potter and his friends, yes," she admitted. "But apparently they are _more_ than students."

McGonagall stepped forward, and the two women stood toe-to-toe. "Is it them?"

"I recognise their magic," Eva answered softly, privately. "It is them."

A sigh, and a nod, and McGonagall stepped back. "I will inform the Ministry," she said, and her voice was heavy. "I was hoping…" She tailed off, but Eva understood.

"I believe we all were," Eva replied, and she suppressed the tremor of fear than ran through her.

---------


	19. The Beginning of the End

Disclaimer etc.: see Prologue.

My GOD, and I'm updating. Sorry for the delay, guys - I had so much stuff going on in RL; Godspell, LEAP, schoolwork, tests... -dies- But I finally wrote it. It's been what, a month in the works? Hope it doesn't suck too badly.

Thanks to my glorious reviewers: **sweetiepie1019**, **Ginny Guerra**, **twouble**, **Kimmilein**, **cmanuk**, **TXGator**, **ron.w rules**, **lynnmichelle**, **MaNdErS20100**, **tamara72**, **James Beston**, **TheMarshmalowWizardGhostCookie**, **Evelyn Granger**, **weasleyismyprince**, **scorpiagirl93**, **Dwindlingcandle**, **ThruSnape'sEyes**, **crashing-xx**, **wasu**, **smore4u1**, **Brooke6404**, **Shattered Truth**, **lucy**, **aweirdoperson**, **hogwartsgirl52**, **FreeHugsxx3**, **beama**, **rileyonline**, **The viEns of hIStorY**, **Like you don't know**, **bloomsgirl**, **Gene Kelly**, **RonWeasleyismiking**, **vampireshavemorefun **and **Sailor Piglet**. I love you all, and I hope you won't have given up on me after the wait! -hug-

R&R is blessed to the Muse, and enjoy!

To Continue

_18 - The Beginning of the End_

It was a quiet morning, and for that Ron was thankful.

Harry had left the dormitory early, off to find and placate the furious Ginny, who was still angry at her brother's actions – she wasn't speaking to him, but he didn't particularly care. There was no sense in dwelling on "could-haves" and "might-haves". The past was over; the present was all they had left.

The more-than-seventh-year room was quiet, the only sound their softly-mingled breathing. The silence was not-quite-comfortable; it was the silence of two people with so much to say to each other that they are mute: _I love you, I'm sorry, don't leave me again. _

Ron Weasley, lying awake with his arms secured around Hermione Granger, closed his eyes, fighting back the memories and the phantom pain.

_Why did I ever think this was going to be easy? _was the unruly thought that speared through his mind, and he couldn't quite work out how to quiet it.

It was a long, shuddering breath that escaped from his lips; a breath that flicked apologetically at the wavy strands of Hermione's flyaway hair. He watched the brown threads dance in the air, and then slowly settle back down, tumbled against the rest. Each time he breathed her hair moved differently; each time it settled, it fell in a different place.

Nothing was constant.

"What time is it?" Hermione's voice was soft and sleep-fogged, but Ron's heart skipped the briefest of beats as he heard it.

He reached back, feeling around on his bedside table until his fingers chanced upon his watch – he dragged it up before his blue eyes. "A little before eleven," he answered.

"Sunday?"

"Yeah."

There was silence for a moment, and when she spoke again her voice was so small he felt his heart twist. "Did it really happen?"

Ron held her tighter. "Yeah," he answered shortly. "It did."

"Who was she?"

"We don't know," he said gently. "There was no trace of her left in the forest. Eva's clammed up, again. We're right back where we started."

There was a pause, and silence spread between them.

"I hate this year."

He smiled, just a little. There was a soft note of petulance in her voice, and it told him, clear as day, that she wasn't quite as broken as they'd thought. "Don't we all," he answered softly, and dragged his blankets back up over them.

---------

There was a soft buzz of chatter in the Gryffindor common room – the temperature had taken a sudden dip overnight, and the students clung to the warmth of inside; winter was coming. Harry and Ginny occupied one of the sofas nearest the fire, and they were silent. She was still fuming at being Stunned, but Harry knew that she understood.

"Is Hermione actually going to use her bed?" Ginny asked, trying not to smile. "She's never in our dorm. _Ever._"

"Can you blame her?" Harry answered. "It's not exactly been an easy start to the term." He sighed softly, and his green eyes clouded over. "Just ask Ron," he completed in an undertone.

Ginny looked up at him and laid her palm flat against his chest. "We'll fix it," she said softly. "_You'll _fix it."

"I haven't exactly fixed much so far."

"You found Hermione." Ginny's eyes flashed, and he knew what she was thinking. "Even if you didn't exactly duel my brother over my honour."

Harry shrugged wryly. "He would have won."

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "Voldemort?"

"Hermione," Harry answered, and they shared a smile.

"You win," she acquiesced.

"I always do."

She slapped her palm down against his chest; he winced. "Cocky," she warned, a smile teasing her lips.

"More than you know," he answered, deliberately ignoring the double meaning enclosed within those few words.

She laughed and let her head drop down onto his chest again.

---------

Harry flipped a coin between his fingers, sending it spiralling up into the chill air. Meagre sunlight flickered off the dulled gold. It gleamed.

"Get on with it, mate," Ron complained, his arms folded around Hermione, for more than a romantic gesture. "It's bloody freezing out here."

Harry caught the coin, and held it lightly between his bare fingers. "That's what I'm thinking about," he answered, his gaze sweeping across the abruptly-frosty grounds. "It's September. It shouldn't be this cold."

"There was snow on the way here, too," Hermione added softly.

A flicker of what could have been fear spasmed across Ron's face. "You think that has something to do with what's been happening here?" he asked.

"Maybe," Harry answered, forehead furrowed. "I wouldn't rule it out, that's for sure."

"How?" Hermione asked, her gaze intent on Harry.

Harry glanced up at her, smiling. "You're the smart one," he retorted, and she smiled, just a little. "You figure it out."

Ron buried his face in Hermione's hair, and she giggled. "Get on with it," his muffled voice ordered, and Harry grinned.

_This _was how life should be.

He plucked his wand from his back pocket, holding the golden coin in the centre of his palm. Forehead creased with concentration, he began to trace letters on the surface of the coin with the tip of his wand – they glowed with crimson fire.

"Bit Gryffindor-ish," Ron commented. "The gold and the red."

"Like it or lump it," Harry shot back, half-ignoring his friend.

"You were the one who was all for equality," Ron muttered rebelliously, and Harry couldn't help but smile.

Finally he tucked his wand back in his pocket, and studied the words shining from the coin's strangely-warm surface. "_8pm, this evening, Great Hall_," he read. "Think they'll come?"

Ron shrugged. "The word'll spread," he answered. "They'll be there, if only to gawp at the amazing Harry Potter once more."

Harry shot him a look. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Harry glanced back at the coin – his quickly scrawled words had vanished, and it was cooling already. "The DA," he said quietly. "Didn't think we'd need it."

"I don't think we'll ever stop needing it," Hermione answered honestly.

Harry turned back out to frosty countryside, and didn't bother to hide the troubled expression on his face. "I guess not," he answered.

---------

"Everyone here yet?" Harry asked softly, peering over Hermione's shoulder at the list of names in her hands.

Hermione scanned down the list, before nodding. "Looks like we've got everyone." She pulled a face. "All _hundred and three._"

"More popular than the first time round," Harry commented.

Hermione nodded in silent agreement. "I guess we don't have Umbridge threatening to beat us all if we get caught," she proposed.

Harry smiled. "That might have something to do with it."

Hermione rolled up the parchment in her hands and tucked the scroll into the pocket of her jacket. "We'd better get going. It's nearly half-past already."

Harry pulled his wand from his pocket and shot a stream of brilliant silver sparks up into the air – the chatter of the students around him quieted, and they focused on him. He smirked. "Stay together," he instructed, "and _inside _the bounds of the Invisibility Charm." He smiled, and felt a strange up-surging of hope and joy inside him. "Follow me."

Linked together in a tight stream of students, they followed him.

Hermione waited as they streamed past her. A smile flickered across her lips as she spotted Ron, following along at the end, wand in hand and a look of intense concentration on his face. She fell into step beside him.

"Remind me again why _I _had to be the one to maintain this bloody charm," he demanded tightly.

She laughed. "Because I'm the administrative one, and Harry feels like he needs to greet every single person individually."

Ron grumbled something inaudible and probably rude, and she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. "It's not far to the Room of Requirement," she reminded him.

"Good," was all the response he gave.

Her smile slipped, just for a second, and she touched her head gently to his shoulder as they walked.

"You do know that I've had some seventh year's hand on my arse for half the time we've been here?"

Hermione started. "What?"

He chuckled. "Thought that'd get you concerned."

She frowned up at him. "Are you being serious?"

"Yep."

"Who?" she demanded.

"Not telling."

"Why not?"

He spared her a short glance. "It's a DA meeting, not an opportunity for murder."

She affected innocence. "What makes you think I would try and kill someone?"

"I saw how you were with Lavender." He purposefully stressed the other girl's name, teasing Hermione. She knew he was doing it, and lightly struck at his arm. He chuckled, and continued. "I'm not letting you make an example of some girl who can't keep her hands to herself."

"That's what you think."

He laughed, and they followed the crowd.

---------

Barely an hour later the sound of chattering voices, occasionally interspersed by a whoop of delight, swirled in the Room of Requirement. Red jets of light and blue fizzes spat through the air, casting shadows against the walls in sharp relief. Students practised in twos and threes, the four houses purposefully mixed by Harry, Hermione and Ron.

The three in question stood in the corner of the room, watching. "I'm surprised no one's been hurt yet," Ron commented. "They're not exactly brilliant, are they?"

"They'll learn," Harry replied. There was a frown on his forehead as he spoke. "They're not taking it seriously, though. After all I said…" He shook his head.

"We didn't take it seriously, really, to begin with," Hermione observed, her shoulder lightly brushing Ron's, arms folded across her stomach. "And I don't think they've been through _quite _as much as we have."

Harry smiled, and nodded. "True."

Ron's gaze dropped, and he picked lightly at the wool of his jumper. "I guess they'll take it seriously in three months," he said softly. His fingers stilled. "A little less now."

"You're not going to die," Hermione said quietly, firmly.

Ron didn't reply. He didn't even look up.

"She's right, you know," Harry added. He glanced at Ron, his gaze burning. "We won't let you." He paused, just briefly. "_I _won't let you. I plan to spend my whole life being annoyed by you, understand?"

"The difference between what we want and what we get can be kinda big," Ron said softly. "I've noticed that."

"Not this time," Harry said, and his tone brooked no argument.

For a moment, Ron looked as though he was going to speak – his lips twitched, but just as sound began to slip free, a sharp scream rang through the space, and the three of them jolted into instinctive action. Harry shoved forward, through the suddenly-milling students. His wand was in his hand, and the screams didn't stop.

"_What the hell is going on?_" he thundered the moment he broke out of the pack, Ron and Hermione close on his heels.

There were two of them – a Slytherin and a Ravenclaw; a seventh year and a fourth year; Yazmin Scarlett and Daisy Smith. The Slytherin was stood over the younger girl, wand down, disdain scrawled across her face. Her victim was writhing on the floor, screaming and screaming.

"_Expelliarmus!_" Harry barked, his wand lashing out. Yazmin stumbled back, and the girl on the floor curled into herself, shaking and sobbing.

"That was the Cruciatus Curse," Ron said softly, fingers white-knuckled around his wand.

"I know," Harry bit off sharply. "And how the hell does a seventh year know how to perform that?"

Harry stepped forward, pacing the few steps to where the Slytherin was still lying sprawled across the stone-flagged floor. Rage flooded through him. "What do you think you are doing?" he demanded, his voice cold in the silence.

Yazmin pulled herself up onto her elbows, staring up at him with far too much glee in her eyes. "You said duel," she said, twisted amusement dancing in her eyes. Her fingers splayed out across her stomach, and it occurred to Harry that she was acting astonishingly provocatively.

He forced himself to breathe. "There's a reason they're called the Unforgivable Curses," he said lowly.

She nodded slowly, condescendingly, a scathing smile clinging to her lips. "I'm sure."

"Out," he snapped.

She rose slowly, every eye in the room upon her. Her gaze, however, remained fixed on the three before her. "You and your kiddies' army," she said softly. "Can't even bring yourself to use proper curses. What good do you possibly hope to achieve?"

"_Out._"

Her steps rang out in the silence. She glanced back over her shoulder as she reached the door, just once. And she smiled, before leaving.

Silence hung in the air.

Harry crouched down beside the Ravenclaw girl, his hand lightly touching her shoulder. "Are you okay?" he asked softly.

There were tears in her eyes, and she was still in the arms of a fourth-year Gryffindor boy. She stared up at him, and didn't speak.

Harry sighed. He felt drained – the brief rush of energy that had flooded through him at the sound of the girl's scream had faded, and now he was just tired. "Go," he said softly. "All of you. _Go._" Soft murmurs filled the air as the students who had been battling imaginary evil just moments ago left, subdued and shocked.

Finally, as the door swung shut, there were only four left: Harry and Ginny, Ron and Hermione. "I'm guessing that she's one to be struck off the list," Ginny said into the quiet.

"I knew the Slytherins would be trouble," Ron said, his gaze lingering on Harry. "I said—"

"I am _not _in the mood for you saying 'I told you so'," Harry snapped. Still crouched on the stone floor, he pressed his hands to his eyes, muscles tensed. "Damnit!"

"D'you think they'll come back?" Ginny asked softly.

Harry dropped his hands from his eyes and straightened up. There was resignation and disappointment written across his face. "I'd doubt it," he answered. "The DA is supposed to be about _help _and _defence_." His shoulders hunched with pain and humiliation and so much anger. "I'd be surprised if, the next time we called, anyone arrived at all."

---------


	20. Revelation, Transformation

Disclaimer etc.: see Prologue.

Thanks go to my lovely, wonderful reviewers: **cmanuk**, **Kimmilein**, **keske**, **sweetiepie1019**, **MaNdErS20100**, **RonWeasleyismiking**, **ron.w rules**, **hogwartsgirl52**, **beama**, **ThruSnape'sEyes**, **scorpiagirl93**, **weasleyismyprince**, **LF**, **smore4u1**, **senga**, **James Beston**, **animegirl1o1**, **Gene Kelly**, **Evelyn Granger**, **Strangehearts047 **and **ShatteredTruth**. Ah, I love you guys.

Just a quick query – do you guys think I should aim to cover their whole year, or just go where the story takes me? It's something that's been nagging me for a while now...

And maybe, if you look closely, you might start to see some answers appear. Ha ha. I love my characters.

R&R is blessed to the Muse (who is currently stuffed full of ice cream!), and enjoy!

To Continue

_19 - Revelation, Transformation_

The room was quiet, and Ron was silent in his own bed.

Harry was sat up in his bed, back pressed to the heavy mahogany headboard. The blankets were tugged up around his waist, and his hands lay in his lap – the slender length of his wand rested between his fingers. In the darkness, he stared straight ahead, anger and frustration blazing through his veins.

_Failure. _

His fingers screwed up in the blankets.

"You're not asleep, are you?" Ron's voice was loud in the darkness.

Harry shifted his weight – the blankets rustled. "No."

Doubt suffused through the air. It was in these moments, these stolen conversations in blackness, that the fear and pain could be really seen, even if just for a second. No words were needed – they were silent together.

_You and your kiddies' army. Can't even bring yourself to use proper curses. What good do you possibly hope to achieve?_

Harry screwed his eyes shut and jerked the blankets up to his neck, hiding from the world like a frightened child.

--

The three of them were subdued in the Great Hall the next morning, eating slowly, not speaking. They were the focus of many inquisitive glances from around the hall – word had spread, as it always did. Even Ron only picked at his food.

It was Hermione who broke the silence, as she gathered up her bag from the floor. "I'm going to the library," she announced quickly. Ron glanced up at her, and began to move, uncurling his body from his hunched position over the table, but she halted him with a hand on his shoulder. "No," she instructed, with a smile. "I've got three translations for Ancient Runes to do, and my lesson's fourth period. I don't need you as a distraction." Her smile slipped, just a little. "I haven't had time this weekend, what with the… frivolities."

Harry looked down, suddenly finding his omelette highly interesting.

Ron lifted his hand to hers and lightly squeezed her fingers. "See you in Transfiguration," he said by way of farewell.

She nodded to him. "Yeah."

Her shoes clipped quietly against the stone floor, the sound masked by happy chatter.

Harry looked up at Ron. "How is she?" he asked quietly.

The other boy shrugged as he twirled his spoon in a rapidly-cooling bowl of honey-drenched porridge. "She won't tell me," he answered, and there was worry in his voice. "She changes the subject every time I bring it up." He smashed the spoon down, and cursed as porridge splashed over his hand. He scrubbed it off onto his robes.

"Has she even said what _happened _to her?"

Ron just shook his head. "I think she's trying to worry about us instead of herself," he offered. At Harry's bemused expression, he reluctantly elaborated. "You after last night's… failure," he explained, with an accompanying wry twist to Harry's lips. "And me 'cause of… well."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "That."

Ron shrugged. "We've all got things we'd rather not think about."

Harry nodded, and prodded gloomily at the egg on his plate.

--

Hermione had commandeered an entire desk in the library, and had tucked herself away in a corner, books spread out before her. The Ancient Runes translations that she'd finished last night after the disastrous DA meeting were strewn in front of her, ready to be drawn over the thick books in front of her if she heard Harry and Ron's inappropriately loud voices, and her forehead was furrowed as she strained to read the tiny print of the books of dark magic that lay before her.

She sighed in frustration and rubbed at her eyes.

_Over a week, _she thought to herself. _Over a week of reading every book I can get my hands on in every second of spare time I have, out of the boys' sight. That long, and _nothing!

She slammed the book shut with a smack that echoed through the library. Madam Pince shot her an outraged look, but Hermione didn't care. She let her head drop into her hands.

_Okay, _she told herself. _Start again. The spell. _

It was the place she started every time – _praeteritum tempus spectare_; the spell that had caused so much trouble. She dragged her Charms textbook towards her and flicked it open, searching for the charm that Ron had so blithely found so long ago.

After a moment of search, she frowned. "It should be right here," she murmured softly to herself, tapping the page with one fingertip. "Right here."

Aware of Pince's gaze swinging back to her again, and aware also that her good reputation with the librarian was slipping before her eyes, she silenced herself.

"_T" for Temporal Reveal… _she mused. _Maybe I was wrong. "P"? Praeteritum?_

She flicked through to the P section. Nothing.

Fear flickered in her stomach.

Hermione ducked under the table and dragged her bag towards her. She had Ron's Charms textbook in here, too—he'd claimed this morning that he had too much stuff to carry and had therefore offloaded it onto her—and she pulled it out.

She searched it all – the Ts and the Ps. Nothing.

"But I _saw _it!" she breathed. "Plain as day, right there!"

Hermione leaned back in her chair, confusion and fear whirling inside her. Slowly, she shook her head. "I'm getting nowhere," he murmured to herself. "I think it's time…" She smirked, just a little. "Time to do something stupid. Something that Ronald would do."

She swept her books into her bag in a crumpled mess, and fled the library.

Pince glared after her.

--

McGonagall looked up at the smart rap at her door. "Come in," she called, lightly pushing the fifth year essays she had been marking to one side.

The door creaked open, and Hermione Granger glanced around the thick wood. "Professor," she greeted as she entered.

McGonagall flashed her the faintest hint of a smile. "Miss Granger." Her smiled faltered. "How is Mister Weasley?"

Hermione's face changed – hardened. "With all due respect, Professor, how do you think?" she half-snapped. McGonagall watched, intrigued, as she visually calmed herself, and then flashed an insincere smile. "In fact, Professor, it's that which I've come about."

McGonagall frowned, watching Hermione as she took a seat in the chair in front of her. "Oh?" she asked. "And what exactly do you think I can help you with?"

"Well…" Hermione shifted in her seat, pulling her bag onto her lap. "You can start by telling me what exactly you know about why Ron is dying."

"Miss Granger, I—"

"Professor, we're not _stupid_," Hermione cut in. "Far from it, in fact. Harry, Ron and I – we _know _that something strange is going on this year, and that the teachers are at least helping in it, and we just want to help." Her hands were almost extended towards McGonagall, and her palms faced upwards. She was acting almost like a supplicant, but McGonagall got the strangest feeling that she was doing it all on purpose.

"There are some things that you cannot know, Hermione," McGonagall replied softly, stressing the girl's name.

_Manipulation and acting? _she thought wryly to herself. _You are not the only one who knows how to play people, Miss Granger. _

"Why?" Hermione demanded. "Because we're too _young_?" She spat the last word. "We are legally adults, Professor. All three of us, and we are quite possibly more deserving of the label of "adult" than some I have met!"

Silence hung between them.

McGonagall leaned forward. "I agree with you," she said, and she spoke the truth. "Yourself, Mister Potter and Mister Weasley have suffered more than any your age should have to. But that is not the reason that I cannot answer your question, save for reaffirming what you already know."

"Then why not?" Hermione asked quietly, leaning back, arms folded across her breast. "You agree with me, but then you refuse to answer me." Her eyes flashed – anger and pain and love, and McGonagall felt her heart go out to her. "This is not just about you, Professor. Ron's _life _is at stake, and I _will not _lose him."

McGonagall looked thoughtfully at the young woman sat before her. "If I could, then I would," she answered. "If I was allowed, then I would bring you, Potter and Weasley in here and enlist your aid in this final struggle. But, I am afraid, the Ministry still sees you as children, despite your age, and despite everything you three have done to save the wizarding world."

Hermione's gaze sharpened. "_The Ministry_ sees us as children?" she questioned, quick as an arrow. "Not you? The Ministry?"

McGonagall let her eyes smile, but her lips stayed rigidly still as she rose from her seat. "I believe the phrase is, _you didn't hear it from me_. Now. I have work to do." Her eyes twinkled, and she felt warmth rush through her.

_Dumbledore may have sworn by Potter, _she reflected, _but Miss Granger is still more than worthy of consideration. _

Hermione rose from her seat, thoughtfulness etched into her features, and McGonagall shepherded her to the door.

The Transfiguration professor's hand rested on the door handle, and she paused. "And I can assure you," she continued, voice graver now, "that anything and everything is being tried and is being done to save Ronald Weasley's life. I made sure of that."

Hermione smiled up at her. "Thank you, Professor," she said, and there was a genuine smile on her lips.

McGonagall pulled the door open. "I will see you next period, along with Potter and Weasley," she said, by way of farewell.

Hermione nodded. Then she slipped out of the door and was gone.

McGonagall smiled, and returned to marking essays.

--

Ron was half asleep when Hermione skidded into the Great Hall and slammed her bag down on the table next to him. He jumped, his elbow slipping off the wooden surface, and blinked himself awake. "Hermione?" Harry asked from across the table.

"It's not McGonagall," she said, an ecstatic smile fixed on her lips. She slid onto the bench, unaware of curious gazes following her dramatic entrance. "Whatever's going on here, it's not McGonagall."

"Slow down, Hermione," Harry hissed, bringing their voices down to a whisper in the study session in the hall. "What are you talking about?"

"I went to see McGonagall," Hermione answered. "To confront her, I guess, about this whole thing—"

"You did _what?_" Ron asked, incredulous.

"Shut up, Ronald," she said automatically. "But she talked to me, after a bit of persuading. She's not behind all this trouble."

"Then who is?" Harry asked.

Hermione smiled. "The Ministry."

"_What?!_" were the twin gasps that met that statement, and more odd looks were flashed in their direction.

"The Ministry of Magic is perpetrating _everything_."

Harry stood abruptly, jerking the bench back with a loud scrape. "Outside," he ordered, his gaze flicking around the four long tables, and sounding staring down any of the interested observers. Ron and Hermione rose, too, with slightly less noise. The three of them left, bags hastily filled and questions on their lips just begging to be asked.

--

Harry led them outside to the main courtyard – it was empty, and it was cold, but neither of the three noticed. "What the _hell _are you talking about?" Harry demanded the moment they paused.

Excitement flooded Hermione's face. "I went to McGonagall," she began again, voice low lest it carry. "Asked her about everything. She told me that she wasn't allowed to tell us _because the Ministry didn't want it._"

"So she didn't _actually _say the Ministry was behind everything," Ron commented, arms folded and a sceptical eyebrow raised.

"Not in so many words, no," Hermione replied. "But what else could she be trying to say?"

Ron glanced briefly over at Harry, and then returned his gaze to Hermione. "She could have been just trying to get rid of you," he pointed out. "I'm guessing you weren't exactly asking nice, polite questions."

"Well, no—"

"There you have it." Ron's eyes shone dully in the cold light. "Stop grasping at straws, Hermione. The Ministry? Yeah, _right_."

Hermione nodded shortly, teeth clenched and fists balled. "Okay then," she began, "because the Ministry of Magic has _never _done anything wrong before! Ever!"

"Well why would they be letting a _freak _like Phil run around the school?" Ron shot back, squaring off against her, shoulders hunched.

Fire and attraction crackled between them, a bright contrast to the chill of the air.

"Why would McGonagall not tell us if there wasn't some higher authority forcing her not to?" Hermione bit off.

"Well, she's not exactly been forthcoming so far this year, _has _she?" Ron snapped scathingly. "Let's see, what exactly has Mc-bloody-Gonagall done for us so far? Nothing? I thought so."

"_Guys!_" Harry yelled, physically stepping between them.

They both snapped their gazes to him, and he felt distinctly intimidated by their piercing, angry stares.

"Arguing isn't going to help us figure anything out," he said calmly. "So stop it. Both of you."

Hermione tucked her hair behind her ears, suddenly icy cold. "I have work to do before Transfiguration," he said, voice full of restrained anger. "If you need me before then, make sure you've put Ronald back on his leash."

She stalked away.

Harry rounded on Ron. "What's got into you?" he hissed.

There was something empty about Ron's gaze that scared Harry. The red-head pushed past Harry, bag knocking into his stomach and driving the wind out of him. "She's trying to help me," Ron said, half-ignoring Harry as the latter struggled to keep pace. "That's why she went to McGonagall."

"Why can't she help you?" Harry asked.

Ron halted, and there was no emotion in his expression. "I don't want help. I want you to accept it, and just let me live my last few weeks in peace."

With a final solid shove to the centre of Harry's chest, Ron followed in Hermione's footsteps, up the steps into the castle.

Harry watched him go, and felt his heart break.

Hermione had retreated to the library, and Harry followed her. He tread softly through the rows of books until he found her, curled up on one of the wide windowsills that doubled as a seat. There was a paperback book in her hands, and it was open, revealing densely-packed text, but she wasn't reading. She was staring out of the window at the blue sky.

Harry crouched down beside her. "Hermione?" he asked softly.

"I was trying to help him," she said quietly, unmoving. She still gazed out of the window, fingers curling around the flimsy pages of the book in her lap. "That's what I came here to do – find a way to save him." She blinked, and a tear slid down her cheek. "And then I found that the Temporal Reveal Charm wasn't in our Charms textbook, even if he'd found it in there before, and I went to McGonagall, and it was _all for him_."

Harry said nothing—what could he say?—but he reached up and covered her hand with his.

"And all he does is _argue _and _ignore _me." Finally, Hermione moved, looking down at Harry. "Why?" she whispered.

"He said that he'd be having mood swings," Harry reminded her gently. "We knew to expect this."

Hermione smiled, even as another tear made its damp path down the smoothness of her cheek. "It still hurts," she whispered.

"It'll be okay," Harry said softly, and he didn't quite realise it, but it was the first time he'd said those words and actually meant it. Somehow, whatever it took, everything was going to be alright again. "I promise." He smiled, just a little, and squeezed her fingers. "We've already made the first step, no matter what Ron says."

Hermione nodded, and the fight seemed to go out of her. "I hate arguing with him," she whispered. "I mean, I hate it when it's _serious_. Normally, we'll fight but then it'll be okay again, but now…" She trailed off. "_God, _he can be such a bastard."

Harry couldn't help but laugh at that, and she smiled back, the merest up-curve of the lips. "Come on," he proffered. "Let's go help Ron, even if he doesn't want to be helped."

She pulled her hand out from under his and rose. "That suits me," she replied, wiping away the tears that still dampened her cheeks.

--

Red hair was clutched between her near-skeletal fingers, and she was obsessed with it. The air around her was dark, and the thoughts that swirled in her mind were as black as the night sky, but the few strands of hair in her grasp were bright, blazing red. They seared her mind so much it was almost painful, but she was drawn to them.

Drawn to him, she should say.

_Don't think such things, _he advised her, voice echoing between her ears. _He is prey; we are hunter. He will pay. They will all pay. _

She pouted, her lips forming a twisted "O" of mock-distress. "But I want him," she purred, and a laugh welled up in her wraith-like form.

She heard him chuckle, just slightly. _I know you do, dear sister. I feel your want, as clearly as it were my own. _

"We are failing," she reminded him. "They are escaping us."

_Then let me go to them. _

"They know you," she hissed, and her green eyes flashed in the darkness. Green and red – two bright pinpoints in the void. "They will not trust you."

_I know that, _he replied, and she could hear the glee in his voice. _But they do not need to see me for me to wreak mischief. You know that. It is my way. _

She laughed.

_Let me out, Alaea, _he cajoled. _Let me take my turn. It's dark and quiet here, and I long to hear them scream. _

A smile cracked her lips, revealing little white pointed teeth. She raised her hands to her throat, and unclasped the tarnished locket from around her neck. She held it in her hands, chain trailing down through the darkness to whisper across her naked thighs. A hiss echoed in the darkness; a reptilian hiss.

With a twist of her thumb, she flicked the locket open, and she wavered.

The darkness sucked her in, and there was such a silence that she wanted to scream and writhe and bite and slash, but she was immobile.

In the darkness, kneeling alone and bare-skinned, a blond-haired boy with cornflower-blue eyes ran his fingers over the surface of the heart-shaped locket in his hands. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, tendons standing out against faintly-bronzed skin.

Phil Parsons rose to his feet in the darkness, and studied the red hairs that were still wound around his fingers with a smile on his lips.

--


	21. A Shift in Priorities

Disclaimer etc.: see Prologue.

Wow. It's, erm, been a while.

As always, thanks to my reviewers, and my naggers: **ronniemione**, **OhForTheLoveOfDragons**, **MaNdErS20100**, **cmanuk**, **Kimmilein**, **ron.w rules**, **ShatteredTruth**, **sweetiepie1019**, **RonWeasleyismiking**, **ThEnAmEsGiGi**, **ridiculous 123**, **scorpiagirl93**, **rileyonline**, **weasleyismyprince**, **James Beston**, **insert name here**, **senga37**, **hogwartsgirl52**, **magpye**, **Evelyn Granger**, **ThruSnape'sEyes**, **gummyvites**, **Madame Rose**, **Dwindlingcandle**, **Mika2345**, **xfalloutgirl27x**, **smore4u1**, **vampireshavemorefun**, **Seer of Spots**, **Elledreamer**, **ReviewsGalore**, **TaylorxxSue**, **mummie **and **anonymous**. And a massive apology for the seven month gap.

Seven months. Holy...

Seriously though? This morning, I realised I hadn't written this for over half a year. I promptly wrote an entire chapter. I'm _so _sorry.

Here you go. Chapter Twenty: R&R is love, and enjoy!

To Continue

_20 - A Shift in Priorities_

The day was quiet.

Ron sat apart from Harry and Hermione during Transfiguration, and then subsequently during Potions and Charms. The red-head was quiet and subdued, and it was such a far cry from his normal stubbornly loud self that Harry felt sick. He was tempted to wish that the three of them had never returned to Hogwarts, but he knew that what was done was done. All they could do now was try and reverse the damage, and try to survive the rest of the year.

He snorted softly and threw his quill down on top of his half-complete Potions essay, splashing ink over his own messy handwriting. He swore to himself, and the curse echoed loudly in the Gryffindor common room. It was empty, fortunately – it was eleven at night, and most of the other students were asleep in bed, Ron included. Harry had glanced in on him before he went down to join Hermione, and his best friend's back was stubbornly turned to him. Right now, it was just Harry and Hermione, sitting opposite in each other in armchairs by the fire. Hermione had finished her Potions essay an hour ago, working while Harry perused the thick, black-bound book they had borrowed illicitly from the Restricted section of the library, and then the pair of them had swapped over.

The same book now lay discarded in Hermione's lap as she stared absently into the fire. She didn't even look up at Harry's cursing. She was distracted. Harry knew what by.

"Hermione," he prompted softly, and she looked up at him. He smiled, but it was forced, and she could tell. "Anything?"

There was a sheet of parchment under the book they'd been aiming to scribble pertinent notes on, and Hermione retrieved it. It was blank, and the emptiness of it mocked them. "Nothing," she said heavily. "It's as if this has never happened before."

Harry leaned back in his chair. "Maybe it hasn't," he replied.

Hermione's gaze dropped to the ancient pages of their stolen book. "Then what can we do?" she asked, and there was despair in her voice. "We're just children, Harry, despite everything that we say. Maybe the Ministry's right not to tell us what's going on. Maybe we should just let them deal with this."

"And what if they're so busy running around after themselves and cleaning up Voldemort's mess that Ron just gets pushed to one side?" Harry asked softly. "Despite what anyone might say, the wizarding world has bigger problems to deal with than the impending death of a single teenager, no matter who he's friends with." Harry sighed, and felt abruptly cold. He rubbed at his eyes, trying to dispel the tiredness. "It's up to us, I think. We can't trust anyone else."

Hermione looked up at him. "I hope you're wrong," she said softly.

"So do I," Harry admitted. "But I don't think we can take that chance."

"What do we do then?" Hermione asked.

Harry was silent for a long moment, his arms folded across his chest. "I think we're doing this all wrong," he said finally. "I think that we should stop trying to _find _a spell to help Ron, and try a different approach."

Hermione's forehead furrowed, and she distractedly shut the book that rested on her lap. She knew what he was saying – he could tell from the suddenly-wary look in her brown eyes. "Harry," she said slowly. "Are you serious?"

"McGonagall can't—or won't!—help us, and these books aren't much use." Harry's eyes burned a brilliant green, ignited by a mixture of exhaustion and frustration. "Maybe we'll have to find our own way."

"Harry, we can't just start making spells," Hermione countered, with a quaver that sounded almost like excitement in her voice. "It doesn't work like that."

"Why not?" Harry queried. "I'm the wizard who defeated Voldemort, you're the smartest witch I've ever met. If we can't do it, who can?" He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "Hermione, listen. We both know that there is something seriously wrong going on at Hogwarts this year, and it's important that we figured it out and, if necessary, stop it, but we should stop thinking of that as our priority. Phil, Eva, strange patches of darkness in the Forbidden Forest…" He shook his head, and pretended that he didn't notice the pain that flickered in her eyes at his last few words. "We've sidelined our friendships before, and it brought us nothing but trouble. Never again." His lips quirked upwards slightly in imitation of a smile, but his eyes were empty. "We're going to save Ron," he said simply, "and we're going to do it no matter what it takes."

Hermione was quiet for a long moment, and Harry watched her intently.

Finally, she met his gaze. "We could try," she acquiesced.

They were silent again, and it was as if a dam had broken. Energy suffused through Harry's veins, and he wanted to get up and run and jump. _It's going to be alright, _a voice in his mind whispered. _It's going to work out – it actually is. _

"It feels wrong to be doing this without Ron," Hermione whispered, and Harry's mind froze.

She was right.

Harry glanced towards the stairs that led to his shared room with his red-headed best friend, and his joyful mood plummeted. "Yeah," he agreed. "I guess it does."

--

Ron turned the silvery cloak over in his hands, and wondered if he was being an idiot. _Entirely likely, _he mused, and his voice in his head sounded oddly like Hermione. He felt the faintest twinge of regret – he'd seen them in the Common Room when he'd snuck past under the Cloak, hard at work. _To save you, _the Hermione in his head prompted, but he ignored it.

He was here for a reason, and he wasn't going to mess that up.

He sat on Eva's desk, legs crossed awkwardly (honestly, he had no idea how Hermione could sit like this so often), and tried not to miss his friends. _You're an idiot, Ronald, _he told himself, but he didn't move from his uncomfortable position. He carefully folded the cloak, doubling it over and over until a dense square of fabric rested in his lap, and then began to watch the door.

Minutes passed, and he regretted the loss of each one. He'd never really thought about time before this year. Before Phil, and before the scar across his chest.

His fingers brushed lightly at the fabric of his shirt.

The door's hinges creaked, and Ron felt a burst of adrenaline thrill through him.

Eva stepped quietly around the half-open door, hair limp and body bent. She looked tired and, despite himself, Ron felt a twinge of sympathy for her. Fiercely, angrily, he quashed that unruly feeling. _Her fault, _the part of his brain that was still in shock soliloquied._ Her fault, her fault, her fault… _

He was tempted to smack himself in the head, but he figured that wouldn't quite bring about the air of casual menace that he was going for.

Eva turned, just beginning an exhausted walk down the aisle between the students' desks, and saw him. She froze, but just for a moment. Her head tilted to the side and she resumed her stroll, now with a hint of confidence in her stride. "Mister Weasley," she greeted calmly. "Do you think it is entirely appropriate for you to be in my classroom this late?"

Ron shrugged. "It's just a room," he answered. "It might be yours now, but I've had lessons in it for years." He smiled, and it was more of a baring of teeth than an expression of amusement. "More mine than yours, I think."

She paused, her too-thin arms crossed across her stomach. He could tell she was just itching to go for her wand. "What do you want?" she demanded.

"Answers," he answered, and slipped his own wand out of his pocket. It wasn't a threatening gesture—mainly because he wasn't quite stupid enough to try and threaten someone he knew very little about—but rather one of self-defence. If she was going to use magic, he was sure as hell going to be at least vaguely prepared. _Preparation is key, _he thought absently to himself, and tried not to think about Phil.

"Answers," Eva repeated flatly. "Answers to which questions?"

Ron decided that he didn't much like deliberate evasiveness. "Don't play games with me," he snapped suddenly, muscles cording in his neck. "I'm tired and angry and running short on time." He never intended this meeting to be cathartic for him, but this sudden burst of anger suddenly made the weight on his heart begin to lift. "I want you to tell me what the _hell _is going on. You know, McGonagall knows, the Ministry knows. We _don't_ know. And we're the ones that this mess seems to be affecting most of all."

"So I'm just going to tell you?"

"So you're just going to tell me."

Eva regarded him thoughtfully, and he fought the urge to shuffle under her piercing gaze. "You are braver than most," she finally said thoughtfully. She didn't seem to expect an answer, and she moved to perch on the edge of the front row of desks. She looked up at him luminously. "Well then. What do you wish to know?"

Ron blinked, momentarily thrown. He hadn't actually expected his posturing to work. "What?" he asked eloquently.

Eva's lips curved upwards in a smile. "What do you wish to know?" she repeated, amusement dancing in her tired eyes. "I will answer, as much as I can. You have suffered too much to not be given some answers, at least. So ask what you will."

Ron straightened, the Invisibility Cloak clenched in his sweaty fingers. This felt slightly surreal. "Who are you?" he began simply.

The woman's smile faded somewhat. "I am Selena Eva," she began, "and I'm not a teacher." Her expression flickered, and she amended that. "At least, that is not my chosen profession." Her head tilted to the side. Ron reflected that she seemed to do that a lot. "I am what you call in this country an Auror."

Ron's forehead furrowed. "You're not from here?"

The amusement returned. "Could you not tell?" Eva asked lightly, the subtle accent in her voice twisting blazingly in the air. "I do not exactly _sound_ like you."

Ron's complexion betrayed him, flushing brightly. He was glad the room was still somewhat dim. "Auror?" he asked, deftly changing the topic. "Why does Hogwarts need an Auror?"

Eva remained with a smile on her lips, but it was stale – a rictus of forced humour. "I believe you know that very well," she answered softly, "seeing as it is you and your friends who have been purposefully put in the middle of all this danger."

"Purposefully?"

She nodded slowly. "The Ministry of Magic is currently engaged in an ongoing project regarding the capture and eradication of all those calling themselves 'Death Eaters' who are still at large," she answered, and there was a clinical note in her voice which made a chill bite up Ron's spine. "So far, the project has been highly successful." Her pale features twisted sharply. "However, several rogue targets have required more… in-depth pursuit."

"In-depth pursuit," Ron repeated flatly. When she said nothing further to elaborate on the subject, he sighed angrily. "Fine. In-dept pursuit. Whatever. That _still_ doesn't explain a whole lot of things."

Her eyes flashed sharply. "For example?"

"Why the hell you _bit _Harry!"

She looked momentarily confused. "You would rather know about your friend's past injuries than a highly secret government operation?"

Ron waved one hand absently. "I have messed-up priorities."

Eva was quiet for a moment, and then she said, "It was a mistake." Something oddly akin to guilt crossed her not-quite-pretty features. "A lapse."

"A lapse."

"Do not jeer at that which you cannot understand, Weasley," Eva suddenly snapped, her pale knuckles growing even paler as her fingers wrapped around the edge of the desk. "What I am, what I was and what I must endure are ideas far beyond anything in your comprehension, and if you had—"

"Stop whining," Ron abruptly spoke over her. "I get enough of that from Harry. I get it, okay? You're a tortured heroine with a dark past, out to save the world. _Wonderful._"

"Sarcasm does not become you," Eva answered sharply.

"Don't really care."

"You—" She broke off, and sat, frozen.

Ron frowned. "Eva?"

"He is here," she whispered, and there were so many voices inside hers, overlapping and twisting inside each other. "He is here, and she is ready."

_Hermione. _

Ron didn't know how he knew, but he did. He shoved himself off the desk, Invisibility Cloak in hand, and ran.

--

Phil had expected the Weasley boy to be in bed. It was late—or early, really: the watch that lay abandoned beside the rucked-up blankets read two in the morning—but there was nobody here. That annoyed him, but only a little. There was time. He could wait.

_Can we kill them yet? _Alaea's voice was quiet in the back of his mind, but her sing-song insistence was loud and clear. _I want to kill them. _

"Patience, little sister," he replied, indulgent humour running through his voice. "If Potter is to suffer, the praised _Golden Trio_ must live a little longer." Mockery was loud in his voice, and his face twisted.

_But they do not _all_ have to live. _

Phil smiled. "Your bloodlust amuses me."

He could feel her influence in his thoughts – cold fingers wrapping around his inhibitions and his morals. Tempting him; drawing him astray from the path they agreed on. _Remember, brother; you share it too. You are a part of me. _She giggled. _If I lust for blood, so do you. Give in. _

"Right now," he observed, ignoring her latter words, "it is _you _who is a part of me."

_Semantics. _

He laughed quietly. "Maybe," he answered, but he knew that she could tell he was lying. He could feel her anger, and her impulsiveness.

Footsteps echoed up the stairs, and Phil turned to face the door.

_If it is that brown-eyed bitch, I want you to kill her. _

"Alaea—"

_Kill her! _The voice was loud in his mind, blasting through his skull with the force of a juggernaut. His will was gone, eroded in a second: his hand moved for his wand, but he wasn't in control of his unruly fingers. Crazed gibbering screamed in the back of his head.

_Control yourself! _he tried to make his lips say, but suddenly _he_ was the voice in the back of the head and _she_ was the one using his body. _Alaea! _he called, frozen in shock. _Stop this! _

"Ron?" his ears heard a voice ask, and his eyes caught sight of bushy hair and soft curves – and a pink mouth, formed in a gape of surprise as she stepped into the room unknowing—

His wand arm rose, and he struggled to pull it down. _Not now, Alaea! _he bellowed. _They cannot suffer if they are dead! _

She didn't listen.

"_Avada—!" _

--


End file.
